


Ineffable Timing

by mordelle



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Communication Failure, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel discovers feelings, Heartbreak, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Switch Aziraphale (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Written in the voice of God for the most part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordelle/pseuds/mordelle
Summary: It's been almost a year since the world was saved, and the Clueless Husbands are no nearer to taking the next step in their "relationship." That is until Anathema and Newt give them a push. Gabriel and Beelzebub plot to have Crowley and Aziraphale destroy one another, but not before Gabriel catches a bad case of "human feelings."Voice of God: This story does not begin and end in a garden. It begins and ends with a flaming sword.





	1. A.J.

**Author's Note:**

> This market is beyond saturated, but that's okay. I'm so in love with Good Omens and the Ineffable Husbands that I can't help myself. My HC for Crowley is quite a doozie. I've explained it all in the Post Chapter Notes at the bottom. I hope it blows your mind the way mine did lol. Save it for last if you want the experience!
> 
> Thank you Betas: Darkphilosophe13, Azeran, & Stealbeatingheart
> 
> ALSO! The rating has been changed back to MATURE because although there is descriptive smut, there is nothing overly detailed and there is no kinkiness to speak of.

There are some stories we have heard, read, and told for thousands of years. In this case, about six thousand of them. Yes, the beginning of the world you know and almost lost due to a Divine Plan, started in a garden. However, that was  _ that _ story and this is  _ this _ one.  _ This _ story does not begin and end in a garden. It begins and ends with a flaming sword. Well, and two unlikely, but actually very likely, companions.

In the  _ other  _ story, we shall call Story A (for Almost-armageddon, or Antichrist, whichever suits you best) an angel and a demon met in the garden of Eden, specifically at the Eastern Gate. Many scholars and theologians have pondered on the exact location of the most famous garden in all of history, and have come to several conclusions. Armenia, which is incorrect. Present-day Iraq, where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers run into the sea, which is also incorrect depending on how you look at it. 

You see, the Garden is not technically on Earth. It never was. It was and has always been in Eden itself. A plain, as the origin of the name suggests, but maybe more accurately, a  _ plane _ . A very specific place in time and space that subtly intermingles with all the other planes surrounding it. The  _ gates _ that lead in and out of the Garden, however, are on Earth. One of those gates, the Eastern Gate, is at the head of the Persian Gulf, in modern-day Iraq, where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers run into the sea. 

It was on this plane that our demon of this story not only tempted the first humans, but was also reacquainted with an  _ Old Friend _ . This would set in motion a chain of events that would lead to the conclusion of Story A and this story alike, but let us not get ahead of ourselves. Or rather, let us jump ahead to the present. To where a certain A.J. Crowley, a former demon of Hell, former angel of Heaven,  _ lurks _ .

It is not precisely common knowledge, more like a common guess, that creatures of the occult or the ethereal kind do not need to sleep. Only two people on almost-post-armageddon earth knew that a particular such being still enjoyed the leisure despite that fact. But Anthony J. Crowley had not slept a wink for three-hundred-sixty-one days, and he wasn't likely to for the rest of his uncertain existence.

"C'mon, Aziraphale, c'mon. Y' know you can't help yourself," the demon drawled bitterly behind a pair of binoculars. 

Crowley was inconspicuously perched on a far off roof, peering into the angel's old bookshop, making his best impression of a gargoyle on duty. There was no moon out tonight, but he didn't need it. Crowley had memorized every local, their rituals, their nuanced behaviours. He knew their names, where they worked, what time they had dinner or went to the pub. He could even accurately divine the hour at which any of them might shuffle off to the privy for their astonishingly predictable bowel movements. Except for old Edgar, the poor man was a mess. Crowley almost miracled away the bloke's IBS. Almost. 

He watched his best friend prepare his hot cocoa and pluck a book off a shelf. The demon checked his watch and smiled mirthlessly. He peered into his spying tool again to find his friend peeking out his window, looking this way and that in a most suspicious fashion. Then he closed it, turned the latch very slowly, and drew the curtains. 

"That's it. Do it. I dare you," Crowley growled with anticipation. 

The glow of electric lights disappeared only to be replaced by a softer, flickering glow of--

\--

Candles. White, vanilla-scented candles. Oh, how sweet the aroma was, how ethereal and romantic, thought Aziraphale as he sighed contentedly with hot cocoa in one hand and Hemmingway in the other. A book lover's dream come true that he rarely got the chance to do right these days because--

"ANGEL!" Roared Crowley, startling the living Hell out of Aziraphale. 

The angel frowned mournfully at his cocoa-stained trousers.  _ Not again, _ he thought woefully.

Crowley stalked toward the offensive candelabra and jutted an angry finger at it. "What have I told you about candles in this bookshop?" He popped the p and tapped his snake-skin shoes impatiently.

Aziraphale whined with child-like impatience. "I'm tired of this, Crowley! I like reading by candlelight. No, I  _ love _ it. And I will not give it up just because--"

"Just because this entire bookshop burned to the bloody ground with you in it not, what, a year ago?! I mean, do you want to be discorporated again? Eh? 'S not like you could gavotte back up to your people and ask for a new body, now can you?"

The celestial could feel his invisible angel feathers ruffle with annoyance. He sighed and summoned all the patience he could muster, which was usually quite a lot, but right now was exceedingly difficult to get a grasp of. "I appreciate your concern, Crowley, I really do--"

The demon scoffed and tore the candles up off the reading table, plunging the entire room into darkness when he blew out them out entirely in one breath. There was an awkward, silent, and pitch-black moment before Aziraphale cleared his throat and snapped his fingers. The candles were on again. 

Crowley turned them back off with a snap of his own digits.

Aziraphale lit them again only for Crowley to snuff them out once more. It was war. A series of loud snaps and flickering lights came back to back at a dizzying speed until Aziraphale groaned with frustration.

The electric lights came on, revealing the angel’s silent annoyance and twitching left eye. He took a deep, steadying breath through his nose and pursed his lips. Crowley was as stoic as ever, waiting patiently for Aziraphale to say whatever was obviously on the tip of his tongue. He expected the angel to adjust his waistcoat and change the subject, like he always did, then offer him a drink. Maybe some small talk. Maybe he’d sit next to him, and pretend to fall asleep, and accidentally let his head fall on to the angel’s shoulder.

“Out.” Was the only thing that Aziraphale uttered, his eyes closed.

“What?” He obviously didn’t hear right.

Aziraphale took slow steps toward his friend until he was almost nose to nose with him, the height difference making him look up with what seemed to be a hooded glare. He could try all he wanted to look menacing, but Crowley knew he didn’t have it in him. Not really. The little show was having the opposite effect of what the angel intended. Crowley was getting excited. He had not seen him this grave since they both stood with Adam Young in the plains of Eden. He could almost see Aziraphale’s wings stretched out and ready for battle. He was also so very close. Crowley was glad, once again, that his dark spectacles hid his eyes or his angel may have seen the need to kiss him at that very moment.

“Listen to me, you overbearing fiend,” Aziraphale lectured with steady, calm and crisp words, “you have been driving me up the ceiling--”

“Wall.” Crowley corrected.

“I’ve put up with it because I know your heart is in a good place--”

“Is  _ not _ .” He drawled.

“Listen here!” The angel took another calming breath. “This is my bookshop. I will do as I please. If you don’t like it, you can sod off.”

Crowley gasped dramatically. “ _ Aziraphale _ . I’ve rubbed off on you a bit too much, haven’t I?” He chuckled at his friends blushing cheeks. “Fine. That’s fine by me. Do whatever you want.”

The angel narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “What I want is to light my candles and read.”

“What candles?” The demon asked innocently with a sway and a shrug.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he looked around. His candles were gone. His mouth dropped open and he ran to a certain pile of dusty books on a shelf, moved the stack, and found the area empty of his hidden supply. The angel sputtered and whirled around to face his friend. “I can’t  _ believe _ you!”

“I can’t believe  _ you _ ! Think I wouldn’t find out about your secret stash of death sticks?!” Aziraphale ran to his other hiding place. “Those are gone, too, angel.”

The celestial stopped in his tracks and fumed. “You bastard.”

“Vulgarity becomes you, my l--” Crowley cleared his throat to cover the near slip-up, “friend _. _ ” He could almost hear Aziraphale’s patience snap.

“Get. Out. Get-out-get-out-get-out!” He took long strides toward the demon and began dragging him toward the door. 

Panic started to build as Crowley got closer to the exit. He wasn’t really going to toss him out, was he? Oh, but he was. He really was. His angel was surprisingly strong and very successfully pushed him up against the door as he began to unlock it. “Angel, wa-wait-wait-wait! I’m sorry!” He chuckled nervously. “I’ll replace them! With better ones!” The door was open. He was pleading now. “No-no! Hold on!” He braced himself, grasping the edges of the door frame while Azirphale pushed with all his might. Crowley was now desperate. He could not be cast out by his only friend, even if it was just a stupid thing he’d probably get over the following day. His mind reeled as his arms began to burn painfully from the exertion of keeping himself wedged there. “Remember the last time we parted on bad terms ‘round this time of year?!” He choked out frantically.

Aziraphale froze silently for a moment. They were both panting. “Damn you,” he breathed, shoulder still buried in Crowley’s back.

“Too late,” he croaked back. 

Aziraphale finally relented and stepped back. A loud sigh of relief escaped his friend as he stumbled back into the bookshop and closed the door. The demon turned around and gave him an apologetic smile and raised his hands in surrender. “Replace them now, Crowley.” He demanded seriously. 

“Let there be candles,” he squeaked with a wave of his hands. 

The angel stalked to his hiding place and removed two large white candles with a frown. They felt wrong, and there was some kind of artificial flame on the wick. “What, pray tell, are  _ these _ ?”

Crowley sauntered over to him and took one of the candles. “A fascinating human invention, angel. They’re LED candles!” He gave him a toothy grin and switched the thing on. “And look!” He pointed at the now lit flame. “The flame moves and everything! They’re scented even! Here, smell!” He shoved the contraption under his friend’s nose.

Aziraphale was still looking at Crowley with a bored expression as he caught a whiff of vanilla. He took the candle and looked at the demon’s concerned, expectant face. He shook his head slowly and sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t burn up in here? I accidentally--”

“I know, I know, but better to be safe than sorry, eh?” He clasped his hands under his own chin and grimaced. “Can’t we compromise, huh? For the safety of the bookshop?” His lower lip protruded pleadingly. “For my peace of mind? Hm?”

He was a pitiful sight. Aziraphale could hardly stand it. He sighed heavily and looked at the sorry excuses for candles. “Fine.” 

“Yes!” Crowley clasped his hands on his friend's shoulders and gave him an encouraging shake. “They have a lovely glow. You won’t even notice the difference!” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulders reassuringly, revelling in the feeling of touching him. “Here!” He let go reluctantly and grabbed an arm full of LED’s. “Let’s try them out!” He made quick work of setting up the candles the way he knew his friend liked them, then ran to the switch on the wall and turned off the shop lights. 

Aziraphale marvelled at the flickering glow from the modern inventions. “Well, would you look at that,” he uttered with awe. “It’s not the same, but…” he looked at Crowley who was hanging on his every word, clearly hoping for approval. He rolled his eyes. “It’s close. Close enough.” He scoffed when his friend gave him a smug smile. The angel adjusted his waistcoat and shrugged off the remainder of his annoyance. “Care for a drink? I made hot cocoa but,” he remembered his stained trousers but found the stain gone. He looked at the side table and found his cocoa sitting there, steam rising from the cup. Heat rushed to his cheeks when he met Crowley's satisfied grin again.

The two sat side by side, as was their fairly new tradition. Aziraphale read aloud while Crowley listened. The angel knew his friend would probably fall asleep; books never interested him, and maybe, hopefully, the demon’s head would roll onto his shoulder. It did. However, Aziraphale could not be too careful. He knew the demon could wake at any moment and so he resisted the burning urge to turn his head and bury his nose in his friend's hair. Almost resisted. The angel kept reading and, as subtle as possible, turned his head slightly, his chin grazing fiery red strands. He inhaled softly and sharply. The demon’s aftershave was pungent, but that was not the scent he searched for, though he quite liked it. He tried again. Some kind of hair wax. Another deeper but still quiet sniff brought the elusive aroma to the forefront; burnt matches. Crowley used to stink of sulfur back when they were still acquaintances. Aziraphale liked to think the smell faded along with some of his evilness over time, but maybe he just grew so used to the distasteful scent that he could hardly smell it now. The scent of burnt matches was tolerable though. More than tolerable, he liked it. Added to the illusion that his faux candles were real. 

The angel nearly whacked Crowley over the head when he suddenly remembered his offence from earlier. Things had been dicey between them lately. After they thwarted the end of the world, it seemed like things were on the up-and-up where their friendship was concerned. Aziraphale even hoped that he would have the courage to voice his affection for his friend, though he knew that Crowley would most likely scorn him as he usually did whenever he tried, in little ways, to say how lovely he thought Crowley was. It would rip his heart to shreds if Crowley took his confession badly. The “honeymoon stage” of their freedom from their respective authorities was short-lived, however. With every passing day, the demon grew antsier, more boorish, and insufferable. He hovered over Aziraphale like a dark cloud, controlling and possessive. At first, it seemed rather sweet and considerate. The angel was now at his wit's end with the irritable serpent, but that was probably also due to his own growing anxiety. It was easy to feed off his friend’s concern when Aziraphale himself was fearful of when (because it had to be a matter of when not if) their offices would hunt them down and demand retribution once more.

Crowley stirred and hummed groggily. Aziraphale hadn’t realized he had stopped reading.

“Is it that time already?” Crowley slurred and righted himself. “Oh, erm, sorry. Must’ve nodded off,” he muttered. 

Aziraphale felt the lack of Crowley’s weight on his shoulder as if it were a limb that was now missing. “I guess we can call it a night then, seeing as you’re so tired.” 

Crowley sighed. “Right.” With a decisive slap to his knee, he pushed himself up to standing. “Night then.” He meandered toward the door slowly.

Aziraphale stood suddenly and called after him. “Crowley!”

His breath hitched at the sound of urgency in his angel’s voice. He turned to him and his heart filled with hope for who knows what to come tumbling out of that perfect mouth. “Yeah?” He asked softly.

The angel appeared torn but finally spoke. “Don’t forget we’re meeting the Pulsifer’s tomorrow for lunch,” he replied weakly. 

Crowley’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Yeah. Right. See you then.” He opened the door and sauntered out. 

He stood outside the bookshop until he heard the door lock behind him. Crowley hung his head and sighed. His Bentley followed him like a faithful hound as he walked the empty streets of SoHo. He would not wander far, however, not this close to the anniversary of his second revolt. Unintentionally, Crowley mused on the first time he rebelled. He did not try to push out the troubling memories that only grew foggier with time and distance. The war had sprung up so suddenly then. There was no time to prepare or plan. He wasn’t even called up to arms. The fighting broke out around him and he had no option but to defend himself. It had been chaos. Memories flashed in his mind. His white robes had been cumbersome, not great for fighting at all. His white wings being used, for the first time, to knock his fellow angels down. Aziraphale and his platoon flying down at them and demanding surrender. The fiery weapon about to cut him down.

Crowley shook off the painful images and stopped at his favourite wooden bench. He sat like his legs had been about to give way. The weight of the world, almost literally, on his shoulders. The demon grazed his hand over all the initials and respective hearts surrounding them until he found the one he was looking for. He smiled and caressed it lovingly, remembering the first time a young woman had etched it for him after he had woken from his depressive, century-long slumber. The epic nap he had taken after Azirphale had refused his request for Holy Water and turned his back on him. 

_ The fair-haired lady smiled and took his pocket knife. “You’re not supposed to make markings on public property.” _

_ “Bah, what’s a little mark? No one will notice,” he tempted.  _

_ She laughed. “You’re so bad.” _

_ “Damn right.” He smirked back. “Go on. Teach me.” _

_ “All right then,” she rolled her eyes. Her pearly white teeth bit down on her lip as she brought the sharp edge of the knife to the wood. “I always do the heart first. Makes me feel like it’s a protected space for the initials.” _

_ “Why just initials?” _

_ She shrugged. “So that no one can guess who it is you’re in love with. Plus, it’s easier. You should always put your love’s initial first. Because you put them before you. Symbolism and all that. Go on then. What is it?” _

_ Crowley’s eyes shifted with uncertainty. No one was watching but it still felt dangerous. “A.” He watched her chisel the letter in the heart. _

_ “Now your’s.” _

_ “C.” _

_ “C? Your first name also starts with a C, Mr. Crowley?”  _

_ His first name? The first name he’d ever been given? No, but it should be that one. It was fitting, he thought woefully, the name he possessed when he was pure. As pure as Aziraphale. Only the pure angel he once was would ever be worthy of his friend’s love.  _

_ “J,” he finally breathed. His heart pounded against his chest as she etched it purposefully next to the letter A. _

_ “There. A. and J. Forever.” _

_ More like never, he thought bitterly. _

Crowley ripped himself off the bench before he could cry. He shook his head vigorously, willing his tears back into their ducts. Even now, he knew he was no closer to deserving his angel. His initials in his name always a reminder of that fact. 

_ Aziraphale seemed confused. “Anthony? What’s the J stand for?” _

_ “It’s just a J, really,” he lied through his teeth.  _

The demon adjusted his jacket and sauntered to his Bently with extra swagger and bravado, squashing down the nostalgia. Locking the name outside his old reliable car. Speeding off to leave his name and who he once was behind him and always behind him. The name that would never be in his reach again. The former Protector of Wisdom. The once glorious and beautiful Arch Angel, armed with the one he called Old Friend; his flaming sword.

Jophiel.

* * *

**Post AN:** I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  [ Here is a link to the information I found on Eden. ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garden_of_Eden) I chose the desert plains at the end of the film to represent the plane of Eden. The garden is somewhere on that plane. I thought it was fitting since they took Adam there and Aziraphale seemed very at peace. He inhales deeply as if remembering the place with fondness. 

So, this next tidbit blew my mind… I don’t think it’s been guessed or done before but I haven’t been in the fandom that long so I apologize if there is another person out there who made this connection but… here it goes:

Like everyone else, I wondered who Crowley may have been before Lucifer’s Rebellion. Many have chosen Raphael. That’s fine, but I needed more for story purposes and this happened pretty much by accident. “It’s just a J really,” just didn’t do it for me. The delivery in the episode piqued my curiosity. I came up with Jophiel because I wondered “what if the J in A.J. meant something more.” I know the reason is so he’s not confused with the Occultist, but this is a story. I wanted it to have more meaning. I thought. A.J. could be his secret homage to his and Aziraphale’s angelic names together for the sentimental yet depressing reason I wrote in this chapter. I thought of making up the name... “maybe Josphiel or something like that.” Then I changed my mind and did a google search…. And wouldn’t you know it… Jophiel turned up. I was like “wow that was close to the one I almost gave him.” 

I clicked on the wiki page and nearly had a heart attack. 

  * The Angel Jophiel was staring me in the face with a flaming sword in his hands. Wh-whut. Is that why he went up to the garden? To see this angel who was reissued with his sword and get it back? Is that why he seemed so amused when he very pointedly asked Aziraphale where his flaming sword was and found out he _gave it away?_ Crowley even recognizes the sword before Azirphale does at the end… hmmm
  * It gets better: Jophiel “non-canonical archangel of wisdom” and said to have guarded the records of God written by Metatron. Crawly’s first temptation is very fitting in that regard, is it not? Tempting the first humans to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. He doesn’t even see what’s wrong with that. He even fears it’s a good thing.[“According to Robert Means Lawrence, Arthur de Bles, and R.L. Giles, the angel who cast Adam and Eve out of Paradise was said to be Jophiel.”](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flaming_sword_\(mythology\))
  * I can almost see him reading Metatrons accounts and asking “too many” questions. 
  * Then there is an episode where he calls Shem by name to notify him that a unicorn is running away… well, if you read the wiki page… Jophiel was Shem’s teacher.



[ Here’s the link to the wiki page ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jophiel) … I didn’t make any of this up. It’s either an epic coincidence and a  _ bad _ case of apophenia…. Or…. Neil and Terry are full of it with that excuse that “he just doesn’t want to be mistaken for an Occultist of a similar name.” lol I mean… what the hell?! 

Am I the only one freaking out about this? Tell me in the comments! 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments! Thank you to my beta for this chapter: Azeran and for putting up with my stream of messages lol.
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes on the British end! Comments on any fixes like that are welcomed as I do love to learn for dialogue/writing authenticity.

_Things were boring of late. Every day was the same. The Metatron had not given the archangel new material in ages, and he was beginning to crave the company of the other angels desperately. He missed them. All he did was stand around all day with Old Friend, guarding the Word of God. It was a cushy job, but his favourite part of it all was when he taught the Word to his students. Even though the most recent teachings were a bit confusing and curious, Jophiel did his job the best he could._

_Once in a while, a curious angel would drop buy and request to read the Word or gain a clearer understanding of something that was previously taught, but not often. There weren't too many inquisitive angels, and not one would ever be as curious or probing as Jophiel. How he longed to have a discourse or intelligent dialogue with someone - anyone - but no one was ever interested in talking after class. No one ever had any questions. Jophiel was beginning to think there was something different, or maybe something wrong with him._

_Old Friend fired up of its own accord, and Jophiel's wings reacted in tandem, spreading high above him. Someone was coming. An older looking angel, holding an armful of scrolls, made his way to the Guard._

_"Greetings, Archangel Jophiel," said the Metatron._

_"Finally! I was beginning to think I'd die of boredom!" He snickered at his joke._

_The Metatron seemed confused. "You're an angel. You can't die. Well, I suppose you could be destroyed, but boredom will not do it."_

_Jophiel's smile faltered. "Well, yeah, I know. It was my attempt at a joke. I thought I was getting pretty good at them. I can work on it."_

_"Best not," Metatron replied dryly. "Here." He shoved the scrolls into Jophiel who stumbled a bit, trying to make sure he didn't accidentally destroy the Word with his flaming sword. "Learn them. Teach them. File them. Guard them." He turned to leave._

_Jophiel smiled broadly. "Ay-ay Captain!"_

_The Voice of God looked over his shoulder with a pitying glance before he disappeared around the corner._

_Jophiel snuffed out Old Friend and brought the scroll within the safety of the Records Room. He laid his sword down and eagerly unrolled the new Word. "Ah! More languages! Wonderful!" He was delighted, indeed._

_Jophiel loved reading and soaking up all of the knowledge of the universe, but what he preferred best was learning of all the wondrous things God had planned for her new creations to come. Humans. One day, he would leave his current position and go down to the planet Earth, yet to be created, and teach the humans everything they needed to know. It was an exciting prospect, one that he hoped would fulfil him. He banished that last thought. What need did he have to be filled? There should be no void need filling! He was an angel and already full of God's love. He needed nothing more. At least, that is what the Word implied._

* * *

There is only one difference between bad dreams and nightmares. Both can cause a person to have very vivid emotional responses such as anxiety, fear and despair, but only one will cause strong enough emotions to wake the dreamer. The very word “nightmare” comes from an Old English word, “mare”, which is a name given to a mythological demon that haunts a person in their sleep, inducing frightening situations in order to torment the soul. So, you might see the irony in a demon keeping himself awake as not to torment _himself_ with them. 

However, when a demon has accustomed himself to sleep every so often, one can imagine there are consequences to deliberately cutting off the habit cold turkey. 

In his simple and modern flat, Crowley sat tucked away in the midst of his house plants. He was too tired to stand, so he rolled from one plant to another on a stool with small wheels, misting their leaves lethargically. Although Crowley no longer slept, he suffered from nightmares all the same. They did not always plague him at night, however. No, they struck at whatever time of day really. When he was doing something mundane and repetitive or looking at nothing in particular for too long without blinking. In fact, one was about to strike at this very moment.

The sight and sound of the mist shooting out of the bottle had a hypnotic effect on the exhausted demon. He watched the little droplets catch on the leaves and roll, collecting on the green edges until they were heavy enough to drip down, down, downwards. Over and over again. 

_He smelled smoke but it didn’t bother him. Anyone else would be choking on it. It was hot. Hot as Hell itself but that wasn’t causing his heart to slam against his chest in panic. He couldn’t find him. He couldn’t sense him. He wasn’t on this world anymore. They killed him. No, they destroyed him._

“Aziraphale!” Crowley screamed as he pitched forward out of his stool, landing on his knees hard. The pain that shot through his body snapped him out of the invasive memory and back to reality but the aching pit in his gut left behind made him double over. He wanted to curl up and die. Crowley heaved and panted as he looked around frantically. He pulled out his mobile and called his friend. He held his breath as the dial tone rang in his ear, eyes wild and pupils thin. “Pick up,” he demanded. It continued to ring, and it felt like it had been ringing for centuries. “Please, pick up.” He was about to toss the phone and miracle his arse to--

“It’s six in the morning, Crowley,” came the peeved voice of his friend. “Has something happened?”

Crowley covered the receiver and nearly sobbed with relief. He took in a sharp breath and finally spoke. “It’s that early?” He croaked not able to hide his mirth at knowing his friend was alive and well. “I just called to ask when I should pick you up.”

“Lunch is always at one. You always pick me up at ten. Every month. Why would it be any different this time?”

“Right!” He laughed and wiped at his moist cheeks. “Quite right. See you then.” He hung up and held the phone to his chest. He could feel his plants watching him. Crowley shot to his feet and glared at them all, turning in a circle. “What are you all looking at,” he grated with malice, “carry on!” They trembled and minded their own business.

* * *

It was a rainy day in Tadfield, which was strange as they hardly got any rain this time of year. In fact, for eleven years straight, they had the perfect weather for whatever time of year they were in. Summers were always hot and long, the kind of days only young boys dreamed of. Although it was warm enough for anyone to know it was indeed summer, the clouds above persisted in their highly unusual drizzling. Anathema took a moment and stopped her meticulous scribbling on an almost full note card. She knew the Clueless Husbands (a pet name she and Newt had secretly dubbed them with many months ago) would arrive at any moment, and she did not want them to know what she had been up to just yet. The Occultist stood and walked over to the oven and pulled out a tray of chocolate chip cookies (or biscuits for others). She set them on the counter under the fan for them to cool and counted them. 

“Newt,” she called out, “do you think sixteen cookies are enough?”

“Sixteen _biscuits_ should be more than enough!” He laughed from the bedroom, knowing his little correction earned him an eye roll. 

“Right. Three _cookies_ for you, me, and Crowley, and seven for Aziraphale.” She grimaced a bit at the thought of seven cookies not being enough for the slightly gluttonous angel. She shrugged. “He’ll eat Crowley’s anyway.”

An infant's wail rang out from the bedroom. “I think someone’s ready for lunch!” Newt crooned in baby talk. 

Just as Anathema was about to tend to her infant daughter, a familiar purr grew louder until it stopped in front of the house. She peered out the window to see Aziraphale gesticulating wildly within the vehicle that was parked dangerously close to her fence. The two supernaturals exited the Bentley, and their voices could be clearly heard.

Aziraphale adjusted his waistcoat as they walked to the door. “You nearly ran down their fence, Crowley. Honestly!”

“Did not.”

Anathema chuckled and opened the door for the strange pair. “Hello, boys.” 

Aziraphale smiled broadly and grew excited at once. “Anathema! Oh, you look lovely. Congratulations again. I am so looking forward to meeting the little miracle!” He embraced the new mother and made room for Crowley to enter.

“Congrats,” the demon pronounced as he squeezed by his friend, placing his hands on his shoulders and purposefully on accident pressing up against him. “Pardon me.” He knew the angel was so excited to see the baby that he probably didn’t even feel him.

Aziraphale noticed the unintentional proximity all too closely. “My what a warm day!” At least his comment would explain the flush to his cheeks he suddenly felt. 

“I baked some chocolate chip...” Anathema started and changed course, “biscuits.”

“It’s cookies, Anathema,” Crowley said drily from indoors. “No one says chocolate biscuits. Don’t try so hard.”

  
After seething in place and vowing to kill Newt, Anathema shut the door and led the way to the sitting room where an assortment of small sandwiches and other snacks awaited them. “Please make yourselves comfortable and go ahead and start without me. I need to feed Theodora.”

Newt came around the corner with a small bundle in his arms who began to cry again. “Hello there!” He greeted the guests over the wails as he handed his daughter off to his wife. 

Aziraphale clasped his hands and took quick steps toward them. His eyes locked onto the tiny pink face and grew dewy with emotion. “Hello, Theodora,” he greeted her lovingly. His voice could barely be heard over the screeching. He gazed up at the mother and motioned to the rocking chair. “No need to leave the room if you don’t want to. May I?” He raised his hand to touch the baby but waited for permission.

“Of course!” The mother replied happily.

The angel placed a gentle hand on the infant’s forehead and she calmed immediately. “Absolutely darling,” he whispered. “Isn’t she beautiful, Crowley?”

Crowley plopped onto the sofa and splayed his arms wide on the backrest. “Yep. Cute.” He really did think she was rather adorable, but he had had quite enough of children to last him another century after the whole debacle of delivering and losing the antichrist, and then practically raising one with Aziraphale for eleven years in tights and heels. Plus, relationships with humans were a bit tricky for him with their short lives and all that. The soul might be immortal but when both Heaven and Hell are barred to you, well… he didn’t like getting too attached. What was _absolutely darling_ to him personally was how his angel fawned over the tiny human. He could not help the smile that tugged on his lips. 

The angel finally let the pair be and briefly looked at Crowley who was taking up more than half the couch with the way he was stretched out. He didn’t hesitate sitting beside him despite that fact. If he leaned back, he knew his hair on the back of his head would brush up against the demon’s hand behind him. “So any interesting news since last we met? Any odd happenings?”

“Hellish powers resurfacing?” Offered Crowley. 

The younger couple shook their heads. Newt spoke first. “Not really. The weather seems more normal as time goes by. Adam is away for the summer this time so, we don’t know if that has anything to do with it.”

“I think he’s completely human but who’s to say?” Added Anathema. “He’s a happy kid and wants to be a science fiction writer now. How about you two? Have you heard anything?”

The angel and demon shared a concerned look. “No,” said Aziraphale. “Nothing.”

Crowley wondered if that was disappointment he heard in the angel's tone just then. “Not a peep, which only worries me more.” He waved his hands a bit when he spoke, _accidentally_ brushing his knuckles on blond hair. 

Goosebumps sprouted on Azirphale’s neck and scalp. He hid his surprise by leaning over to the table of snacks and helped himself to a sandwich. “These look scrumptious!” He took a bite.

Crowley watched the angel’s mouth intently. He loved watching him eat for many reasons. Not only were the sounds he made just perversely satisfying to the demon but he adored the way Azirphale would relish in the taste of any morsel as if it were the very first time he had eaten in centuries. It seemed like a sacred experience and Crowley was in on the ride every single time. As the angel’s world fell away to encounter the pleasures that taste buds had to offer, the demon’s fell away as well as he watched for every twitch in Azirphale’s jaw muscles, every lick of his lips, every swallow. It was both Heaven and Hell for him all at the same time.

Crowley half-listened to the group catch each other up on their lives while his eyes were glued to his friend’s face. Most of the conversation revolved around little Theodora, who had already been fed and burped to her satisfaction and was now falling asleep once more.

The mother stood. “I’m going to put her down. Be right back.”

“I’ll join you if you don’t mind!” Aziraphale jumped off his seat and followed the pair to the bedroom leaving Newt and Crowley behind. 

When they had disappeared around the corner, Newt looked at Crowley and grinned. “Watch out, Crowley, you might be next.” His chuckle faded to nothing upon gazing at the stern demon.

The glasses hid most of his emotions but an eyebrow did peak over the rim. “What?”

Newt cleared his throat. “Nothing. Joke… stupid joke.”

* * *

Aziraphale watched the mother and daughter with a kind smile. “The baby is just lovely,” he marvelled quietly. 

“Would you like to hold her?”

Aziraphale beamed. “Oh, yes. Please.” He held his arms out and carefully cradled the infant. The small thing yawned dramatically and fell asleep. The angel chuckled as a tear of joy slipped out of the corner of his eye. “How are you, dear? I know the first few months can be challenging.”

Anathema sighed and sat on the bed, but smiled. “I’m good. Newt is a big help. He’s an amazing father and things have been wonderful. We’re tired _all_ the time but we’re managing. We’ll need a new place soon. I love Tadfield but the cottage will be too small for the three of us.”

“You know, I’m always available to babysit,” he mentioned hopefully. “Crowley is an excellent nanny as well.”

Anathema laughed aloud but smothered it when she saw he was serious. 

“We have references,” Aziraphale uttered a bit hurt.

“Oh, right, you both cared for Warlock. Um, sure. I mean I guess we’d be lucky to have actual _angels_ looking after Theo for us when we need some time for ourselves.”

Aziraphale gave her a grateful look, not just for the chance to watch over the baby but for how she always referred to both he and Crowley as angels. He never corrected her and curiously, neither did Crowley. “It might do the insufferable idiot some good. Keep him busy with fussing over someone other than me for a change,” he muttered with annoyance.

She giggled in response. “He’s still that bad?”

The angel looked behind him at the empty hall then moved closer to Anathema and whispered harshly. “Worse.” He let her laugh again and shook his head. “If I were a demon, I’d have wrung his neck by now. He’s… what’s a proper American expression?”

* * *

  
Crowley picked up a biscuit. He knew better than to press that kind of subject, but something in him couldn’t help it. “No, no. Go on. Explain the _joke_ ,” he drawled. 

Newt squirmed in his seat nervously and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Well, it won’t be funny anyway. You know, when, um, a joke is explained--” he watched Crowley lean forward and take a bite of the cookie. “What I mean is…” his eyes grew wide as the demon masticated slowly, watching him with what appeared to menace. He couldn’t be sure. The spectacles hid all, but it did _feel_ like menace. He swallowed hard.

* * *

  
“Driving you batshit crazy?” 

It was a distasteful phrase but seemed appropriate. “Batshit. Yes. Crazy. He’s going mad and taking me with him.” He sighed. “He miracled away my candles last night,” he whined. “He calls at all hours of the day even if we’ve just seen each other. Bosses me around all the time. I can’t take much more.”

Anathema rolled her eyes but nodded. “Partners can be a bit much when they’re worried about our safety.”

Aziraphale nearly choked and sputtered. “Oh, we’re not… I mean--”

“Or friends,” she corrected herself before Clueless Husband Number One could drop her baby in his sudden flustering. 

* * *

  
The ex-witchfinder cleared his throat. “It’s just a little joke between me and Anathema, really, because, you know, you two are,” he coughed, “always together.”

Crowley stared at the young man for what seemed like an age before he finally swallowed his biscuit. “You haven’t said yet.”

“Said what?” Newt squeaked.

Painfully slow, the demon reached for his cup of tea and took a sip. “The joke.”

“Oh. Again it’s nothi--” he suddenly felt compelled to tell Crowley every little secret he ever had. “We call you the Clueless Husbands.”

There was a pregnant pause before Crowley scoffed with amusement. “Is that right?”

“Yes.” He couldn't stop himself. “We have a bet.”

“Do tell.”

“I bet you two are a couple and just hiding it from everyone. Anathema bet that you’re not and totally oblivious that you’re both stupidly in love with one another.” He took in a long, loud breath and the spell was over. “Oh bugger.”

* * *

Aziraphale composed himself and placed Theodora in her bassinet. He rocked her a bit as he pondered on the opportunity to finally confide in someone about his predicament with Crowley. “We are friends…” he trailed off not knowing how to proceed.

Anathema sensed the change in him and wondered if he was finally going to mention the elephant in the room that always sat between him and Crowley. She had grown to care for them both over the months after the world almost ended and wanted them to be happy. “You do know, don’t you?” She tested. 

The angel held his breath. “Know what?” 

The witch sighed and shook her head. She knew she was the one who had to say it if Aziraphale was going to confide in her. She decided to be cautious. “That Crowley seems to fancy you? I mean, I thought, at first, you knew and were just being...” she shrugged, “British. But I’m not so sure anymore.”

* * *

  
Crowley was now reclined on the sofa completely, looking like a patient at his therapy appointment. “We’re of different stock, us and you humans. It’s completely different.”

Newt shrugged his shoulders. “So, you’re not _together_?”

The demon splayed his hands, always keeping tabs on Aziraphale’s location in the house. “In some way, we are, I suppose. We have a sort of… _arrangement_.”

“Not labelling it then. That’s fair.” Newt nodded slowly, hoping he was saying the right things.

Crowley hissed softly. “Except this arrangement doesn’t really expand to other areas outside of business, and well, there’s no more business to speak of. See my dilemma?”

* * *

Aziraphale was now lying on the bed, feet still on the floor, hands dragging on his face. He had spilled his guts and more information than Anathema needed about angel relations or lack thereof. 

“It’s not like I haven’t noticed at all that Crowley and I are…” he waved his hands in the air as if trying to grasp the perfect word that kept escaping him, “ _something._ It’s just, our case is a bit tricky! Our _kind_ doesn’t _need_ the sort of physical affection that humans exhibit for one another when, well, when you know.”

The witch nodded in understanding. “True, but angels don’t need to eat, and yet, you do… a lot… and you seem to enjoy it very much.”

The angel sighed. “I actually started to feel bouts of hunger after a millennia or so, and Crowley sleeps every night though he shouldn’t need it.”

Anathema scoffed. “Oh, he needs it. He hasn’t slept in almost a whole year and look at him! Grouchy all of the time and driving you nuts.”

Aziraphale removed his hands from his face and sat up looking completely baffled. “What do you mean he hasn’t slept for almost a year?”

“Maybe after the anniversary, he’ll be able to relax more.” She reassured him.

“He falls asleep in my bookshop almost every night!” He almost yelled.

Anathema frowned. “Well, then he’s lying to one of us because when he was here last week, he mentioned he hasn’t slept a wink since the day the world almost ended.”

At that, Aziraphale launched to his feet. “Last week? He was here last week? He said that?”

She nodded. “Yes. He comes by once or twice a week to check up on things. You didn't know?” 

The angel was frozen in shock with his mouth hanging open. Crowley had been coming to Tadfield once or twice a week to make sure things were okay with Adam and the Pulsifers. That was sweet and not exactly too surprising because Aziraphale knew that Crowley did not like to appear like he had any good in him. What was throwing the celestial in for a loop was the fact that Crowley had been feigning sleep while in his presence for a year. The times his head would roll onto his shoulder, or when his leg would limply fall against his own, or when his hand would drop onto the angel's lap, was now taking on a whole new meaning. The memory of Crowley needlessly pressing up against him, and the feel of his hand grazing the back of his head earlier made his eyes grow wide. In a blink, similar moments flashed in his mind going all the way back to the very time they met in the Garden as if someone hit the rewind button on an old VCR.

“Oh my,” he breathed.

* * *

Crowley took another bite of the same biscuit and spoke with his mouth full. “He doesn’t seem to care for labels, no. He’s turned down my advances at every turn anyway. Well, most of them.” He growled with frustration. “I don’t know. We’ve been stuck somewhere between friends and something else for ages.” 

“Sounds to me like you just need to reevaluate your relationship. I mean, you’re on Earth, living amongst us humans, pretending to be humans. May as well use human constructs to help figure it out.” Newt seemed proud of himself for saying something so wise. 

“That’s a _horrible_ idea,” Crowley uttered with disdain. “He’s my best friend. Can’t jeopardize that. And anyway,” he was suddenly grave, “I know what his answer will be. The same one he gives me every time… I’m a demon. Or something along those lines. ‘S always the same.” His heart constricted in his chest painfully. “Demons can’t be loved.”

Newt frowned. “Demon or no, everyone can be loved, I think.”

Crowley sensed Aziraphale finally emerge from the bedroom, heading in their direction. The demon sat up, dusted the crumbs off his person, and looked up to find Aziraphale staring at him strangely. “What? Got chocolate all over my face, do I?” He grabbed a napkin and wiped at his mouth while he held up the plate of biscuits. “Sickly sweet stuff. You’ll love them. Care for one?”

Aziraphale blinked twice before shaking his head slowly. “No, thank you,” he declined softly. 

The other two stared at him with disbelief. The angel never refused food before. Especially not sweets. “Everything all right?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, of course. We should probably not impose any longer.” He thumbed behind him. “Parents should sleep when the baby sleeps,” he finished chirpily and with a small bounce. “Pleasure seeing you again, Newt. Do let us know if you need any help at all.” With a nod of his head, he spun on his heel and showed himself out.

Crowley gave Newt a quizzical look but shrugged and said his goodbye’s. Aziraphale was already in the car looking very pensive. The demon knew something felt off but he was so focused on his friend that he failed to notice yet another disturbance in the air as they drove back home in relative silence.  
  


Hidden in plain sight, one in shadow and the other in light, a demon and an angel spied on their respective targets. They watched silently as the Bentley drove by, the driver and passenger completely unaware of their presence.

“Fancy seeing you here, Gabriel,” the demon greeted dryly.

Gabriel turned to look at the short, stoic demon who was still staring off into the distance even though the car was long gone. The permeating stench of sulfur would have made him choke if he had any gag reflex. “I could say the same, Beelzebub.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so kind and sticking with the story!
> 
> Thank you so much to my betas: Azeran & Darkphilosophe13  
> And to my UK consultant: Stealbeatingheart

Normally, angels and demons do not meet for social interactions. But on occasion, they do meet for business. Even then, it’s a discreet affair. Neither party takes any joy out of it, and they certainly do not like being associated in any way with each other. The fact that demons were once angels was enough of a slight for the forces of Good, at least that is what Gabriel thought - and most angels, to be honest. So, believe me when I say that the archangel Gabriel took no pleasure in meeting the Prince of Hell, even if it meant finally getting revenge on the traitor Aziraphale and that good- for- nothing snake, Crowley. Plus, this was a  _ chance _ meeting and not  _ at all _ arranged purposefully through any  _ back channels _ because those did not exist.

“How long have your people been watching them?” Asked Gabriel as they walked further away from the witch’s home.

“Not long,” replied the prince. “We had agreed to let Crowley be, but we never said for how long.” Beelzebub was equally unhappy to be on speaking terms with the Messenger of God. This was the second time they had to behold his face since before the Fall and it made them sick. “They have their guard up and the Witch has helped them ward their homes and favourite establishments. I’ve only been able to watch them in transit.”

“Same here,” the angel replied dryly. “We get the notifications whenever Aziraphale does miracles, which is how we keep track of his whereabouts.” He wanted to growl, but it would be undignified. “We can’t observe him either. The Witch has obscured them from us both.” He pondered on that for a moment. “Do you think if your people got rid of her - hypothetically, of course, I’m not suggesting murder because I’m an angel and would never propose it - that the enchantments would be rendered useless?”

Beelzebub shook their head and hid their smirk. That he, an archangel, even implied to have a new mother murdered in cold blood was titillating. “No.” They could not stand his stench for much longer. It was like being trapped in a room full of gardenias and it was suffocating. “The enchantments would stay in working order. Tell me, Messenger of  _ God _ , have you explicit orders to destroy Aziraphale?”

Gabriel sputtered. “Well, I have a duty to fulfil. This is a serious matter and traitors must be dealt with.” He had orders, just not from God herself. They were orders of his own making and no one had told him  _ not _ to destroy the treacherous angel, so there was that.

Beelzebub noticed the averting answer and forced down another twitch of their lips. It was vengeance he was after.  _ My how things have changed _ , they thought. The prince was about to say something they knew they would regret. “Perhaps if we work together, we can find a way to destroy them both.”

The angel scowled. He thought about how many more times he’d have to meet with the disgusting creature beside him, smelling of rotten…  _ what was it again?  _ “I suppose that would not be a bad idea.”

They looked up at the tall, chiselled angel beside them. “Oh, I promise you,” this time they let one corner of their mouth sneer upwards, “it will be bad.”

Gabriel shook his head. He stopped abruptly and peered down at the demon. They stopped as well. “What are those white things that humans eat in the morning? I think rabbits make them.”

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. “Eggs?”

“That’s it! Eggs!” They smelled like rotten eggs. “Have any ideas on how we should go about this then?”

The demon grimaced at the word  _ “we”.  _ “Yes. I believe I do. They are expecting us to strike soon.”

“Do you think we should?” He asked, hoping for a resounding yes because his fingers itched to wrap around Aziraphale’s throat - figuratively, of course. Gabriel is an angel, he would never get his pristine hands dirty.

“No. We should wait until they least expect it.”

The angel grunted in assent. “Maybe we should get our best soldiers armed and ready to strike at a moment’s notice.”

Beelzebub shook their head. “I disagree. They will be expecting that sort of thing since we tried it already. No,” they were suddenly very sinister and their voice held a demonic rumble, “this time, we should wait in the shadows and maybe let them destroy each other.”

Gabriel’s eyes grew wide. “How do we do that?”

“I need more intel if my plan is to work.” Their voice grew deeper. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

The angel took a moment to weigh his options. The creature was disgusting but seemed confident of their plan, whatever it was. They had intrigued him. “Deal.”

It was decided then. They would be working alongside Gabriel. A fitting punishment. To spend time with the angel they had once worked alongside before their Fall. The angel who no longer remembered them. 

* * *

The two hours it took to get back to SoHo was awkward. It wasn’t that Aziraphale and Crowley never shared space in silence together, they had, it was just that the angel was behaving quite strangely. For instance, not once did Azirphale ask Crowley to slow down or mind a pedestrian, and that was bloody well odd enough. Just to make sure he was not imagining that something was off, Crowley made deliberate crazed manoeuvres to get a rise out of his friend. Nothing. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley gave the stiff angel next to him a once over. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you. All is well.” His voice lacked its usual buoyancy. It was now that he noticed the speed at which they were going. “Mind how you go, Crowley, for goodness sake.”

The demon scoffed. “Never for goodness sake,” he bantered, hoping that his friend would roll his eyes or bicker back.

“For mine then,” Aziraphale mumbled seriously, just above a whisper. The needle of the speedometer went into a rapid decline almost immediately. He gave Crowley a brief sideways glance. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” Crowley stared at his hands on the wheel more than he paid any attention to the road. He gave a quick look to his left and zeroed in on Azirphale’s hand resting on the seat instead of it gripping onto the door or dash for dear life. That soft, pristine hand might as well had been a demon the way that it tempted Crowley. He swallowed hard and let his right hand fall to his lap. After a few moments, he let it drop to the seat. The distance wasn’t too much and his heart sped up with the thought of how dreadfully close he was to touching Aziraphale. If he had any courage at all, any sign that it would be welcomed, he would have reached for that hand. He didn’t and just tortured himself all the way to the bookshop. Crowley’s left hand grew numb from lack of movement as his right knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. If only the angel would bless him and entwine their fingers, he might finally feel some peace.

They finally arrived and Crowley parked the car. As he made to turn off the ignition, he felt a warm palm on his fingers. He froze, right hand glued to his keys, breath trapped at the base of his throat, heart no longer in working order. Slowly, he turned his head to get the proof he needed with his own eyes. There it was. The angel’s blessed hand atop his damned one.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale uttered gently.

The demon lifted his gaze to meet his eyes. He opened his mouth to say “Yes, angel?” But what came out was some kind of garbled “ _ Yerhuh? _ ” 

Aziraphale pursed his lips and patted the demon’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t take this the wrong way but…”

_ Oh, that’s a bad start, _ thought Crowley,  _ best snatch his hand up and pull him into a kiss before things go south. They’re gonna anyway. _ He stayed a statue instead.

The angel continued. “But I’d like some time alone today.” He gave him an apologetic look. “I hope you don’t mind. 

Crowley blinked with confusion. “I won’t be a bother. If you need the quiet, I can just take a nap on the sofa or something--”

“Yes, about that,” Aziraphale cringed a bit before he continued. “Maybe you should go home and catch up on some sleep in earnest. I don’t think these cat naps are doing you any good. In fact, I’ll be putting my head down myself.” He gave Crowley’s fingers one last pat, removed his hand, then opened the door. 

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, concern dripping from his tone, “there are two days left.”

The angel paused, back turned toward his friend. He nodded and exited the car. Before he closed the door, he ducked his head and offered Crowley a weak smile. “I know. Even more reason to get some proper rest. We need our wits about us, yes?”

The demon nodded slowly. “Right. Yeah. Good thinking.” Crowley watched Aziraphale close the door, walk to his bookshop, and disappear inside as he gave him a small wave. He peeled out of the vicinity and went straight for his flat. On the way there, he could not stop thinking about the angel’s touch or his strange behaviour. 

  
  


_ “All right!” Exclaimed Jophiel as he rubbed his hands with glee. He had just given an exceptional lecture about the new, up and coming creations to his class. “That’s it for now! Anyone have any questions?” _

_ He waited and scanned the room with anticipation. Surely someone was intrigued enough by the exciting new teachings that they would want more information.  _

_ “Anyone? Or any thoughts whatsoever on the subject?” Not one angel even twitched. Jophiel tried to take the disappointment in stride as his lips threatened to turn downward. “Class dismissed then. See you next time.”  _

_ The room full of angels stood and filed out of the classroom… save for one. Jophiel was busy rolling up the scrolls when he felt someone tap his shoulder. He looked up to find the only student left in the room. His blond hair was glowing and his eyes apologetic, but also curious. _

_ “Hello! Sorry to bother you, Archangel Jophiel. I do have a question, but I was a bit embarrassed to ask in front of the class.” _

_ Jophiel smiled wide, white teeth glistening, eyes crinkled with delight. “No bother at all! Aziraphale, yes?” _

_ The lower angel grinned at being called by name. “Yes.” _

_ “Go on, what’s your question?” He leaned comfortably against his podium. _

_ Aziraphale tilted his head and squinted his eyes. “You mentioned that the humans will need sustenance in order to survive. Uh, hm, what was it called again?” _

_ “Food and water.”  _

_ “Yes! Water I’ve experienced already. Very refreshing. I’ve actually tasted it, you know? Have you?” _

_ Jophiel was genuinely amused by the energetic angel before him. “I have not but given your experience with it, I probably should!” _

_ The angel blushed. “So, my question. Food. What is that exactly?” He was genuinely curious.  _

  
  


Somehow he was up in his bedroom. No recollection on how he got there or where he left the Bentley. Crowley found himself sitting on the bed, hunched over with his left fist pressed against his mouth. He rested his fist on the bed and looked around. It was quiet and dark out. It startled him that he had no idea how long he had been sitting there and thought Aziraphale had a good point. Apparently, he needed sleep more than he thought. His waking nightmares were one thing, but zoning out for hours was unacceptable. 

“A little nap then. No harm in that. We have precautions in place. We know Anathema's spells work. Alarms.” He rubbed at his legs anxiously. He placed his fingers to his temples and scanned for enemies. Nothing. “Check, check, check. Twenty-minute power nap outta do it.” 

Reluctantly, Crowley stripped down to his pants and climbed into bed. As soon as he closed his eyes, he was out.   
  


_ Smoke. Flames. An inferno. Books burning. Hastur’s threat rang clear in his mind. They were after him. They were going for Aziraphale next. Where was he? Where was the angel? No. No. Not the angel. Not  _ his _ angel. “Aziraphale! Aziraphale!” _

“AZIRAPHALE! WHERE ARE YOU?! AZIRAPHALE!”

“What the devil?!” Aziraphale came out of his backroom to find a half-naked Crowley screaming bloody murder on his knees smack in the middle of his book shop. “Crowley?!”

“WHERE ARE YOU?!”

The angel ran to his friend who was sobbing into his hands with gut-wrenching despair. Sounds he’d never heard from the demon in all of their time together. “What’s happened?” He knelt before him, eyes wide, scared out of his wits. He placed his hands on the demon’s shoulders and checked for injuries. “Are you hurt? Crowley! For God’s sake,  _ what is it?! _ ”

“They killed my best friend! The bastards! BASTARDS!”

It took a moment for Aziraphale to put it all together. “Wake up, Crowley.” He shook him gently at first but the demon wailed and pressed his hands to his eyes even harder. The angel grabbed on to his hands and tugged with all his strength. “Open your eyes, man, I’m here!” He finally exposed Crowley’s red-rimmed yellow eyes and snapped his fingers in his face. “Wake up. Come on now.” He shook him again harder.

Crowley blinked and his sobbing trailed off into confused groans. The fire and smoke were gone. His best friend was before him looking extremely worried. He was alive. “Aziraphale!” Crowley threw his arms around him and held on tight. 

Surprised, Aziraphale stayed silent but wrapped his arms around Crowley, his bare back was dripping with sweat. The smell of burnt matches was stronger than usual. The angel was deeply pained to see his friend in such a state of despondency. He held him and rubbed a hand up and down his back reassuringly and poured as much love as he could into the demon whose defences were down for once. “It’s all right. Just a bad dream, is all,” he murmured softly, revelling in their first-ever embrace.

Something felt very odd. Crowley was warm and fuzzy and not quite awake until he realized his skin was a bit itchy as if he were rubbing on Aziraphale’s coarse clothing completely bare. The thought slapped him across the face. He was naked. In Aziraphale’s arms. He had no idea what to do and decided to wait for the angel to make the first move. To his surprise, Aziraphale continued to hold him and caress him. He felt his back erupt with goosebumps and his heart that had begun to slow was picking up speed again. Crowley took the opportunity to inhale the angel’s scent. He smelled of spring, like an assortment of wildflowers after a drizzle of rain. 

Aziraphale took it all in. As much as he wanted to keep holding his friend, he obviously needed some help. “How do you feel now?” He stopped his caress and pulled back to look at Crowley’s face. 

The demon took in a shuddering breath and released the angel. Their faces were almost touching. “I’m fine.” He was not fine. He was exhausted. Beyond spent. “I’m fine.” When he saw the pity in his angel’s face, Crowley moved toward a chair and stood up with its help. “Just a dream. Like you said. I’ll, um,” he looked around and realized he was in the bookshop, “head back home.” 

Even now Crowley fought to replace his facade. Aziraphale was tired of it. He stood up as well and walked to the idiot in his shop. “You need proper sleep. I can help.”

_ Sleep? Never again _ , Crowley thought. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe later.” He leaned heavily on the chair, his back turned to Aziraphale.

“That’s it. I’ve hit my limit, Crowley. You’ve been lying to me and I know it.”

“What are talking about?” His head hurt. 

“Anathema told me you that you said you haven’t slept at all since the world almost ended.”

Crowley’s head nearly exploded. That’s why Aziraphale had acted so strangely. He’d figured out his ruse. He knew. He knew he’d been faking it and,  _ and, and _ \--  _ touching him on purpose. _ Surely the ground would grant him mercy and swallow him whole. He needed a drink. “I don’t know what you’re going on about.” He plastered a carefree smile on his face and turned around. Aziraphale was right under his nose looking quite fierce. He swallowed hard. “Angel?”

“Don’t you ‘angel’ me, Anthony J. Crowley.”

_ Oh shit _ . Aziraphale stepped even closer, making Crowley back up against the chair. “Um, I don’t--”

“You’ve been in my arse--

“On,” he corrected, then shook his head to dispel the imagery of both scenarios. “Ngh.”

“-- for three hundred and sixty-three days. And I’ve had  _ quite _ enough.  _ My _ turn to order  _ you _ about and you  _ will _ sleep, Crowley, so help me.”

“I don’t need--” He was interrupted by Aziraphale’s finger jabbing him between the eyes. “Ow! Wha--” warmth filled him from head to toe and everything started to go black. “What did you do,” he slurred as he lost his balance. He was in Aziraphale's arms again, which he didn’t mind in the least. He could have sworn his angel sprouted bunny ears and that there were flower petals falling from the sky. “Oh, look, angel! A rainbow…” 

Aziraphale had managed to drag Crowley to the sofa where he collapsed finally, his eyes closed in blissful sleep. The angel stared down at his friend's peaceful face and nodded approvingly. Then his eyes travelled down his bare chest, stomach, and lower still. The thin layer of his pants left nothing to the imagination. Nothing that Aziraphale didn’t know already. They had switched bodies for a time, after all. Things were slightly different now though. He miracled a blanket, tucked in his sleeping friend, and pulled up a chair right beside him. 

Now that the stubborn demon had been incapacitated, Aziraphale finally had time to think about Anathema’s advice. Before he could speak to Crowley, he needed to reevaluate their situation. After they had thwarted the Great Plan, Aziraphale had hoped to gain the courage he needed to propose a new arrangement. After all, the day he thought would never come finally had. Not in the way he thought, mind you. He had always hoped that Crowley would turn all good and be forgiven. Maybe he still hoped. Regardless, they could be together now because they were on their own side. But the moment that Crowley offered for him to stay at his place after he thought the bookshop was gone for good, he tucked his tail between his legs and turned him down with a stupid excuse. 

The angel trusted the demon with his life, but wasn’t sure he could trust him with his heart (not that wasn’t his already, but he had his limits). He knew Crowley  _ cared _ for him. He just didn’t know if Crowley could  _ love _ him. The Fallen were stripped from God, and Aziraphale had always believed the source of love was God herself. The scene that had just taken place, of his friend on his knees mourning him with such grief, made the wheels in the angel's mind turn. The added fact that Crowley was seeking out physical affection from him was exhilarating and troubling all at once. 

_ “I have lots of other people to fraternize with, angel.” _

_ “Oh, of course, you do!” _

Who knew how many the demon had  _ fraternized _ with over the course of all time, or how many he was currently  _ fraternizing _ with. He needed to think.

The demon let out a satisfied sigh. Aziraphale let his gaze linger on Crowley’s face, then gave into temptation and ran the back of his knuckles over his cheek. The demon erupted into soft giggles at his touch. Aziraphale scoffed with amusement. Although he liked seeing his friend smiling and happy, it was probably best that Crowley have a dreamless and thoroughly peaceful slumber. He laid a palm over his forehead and concentrated. The demon’s face relaxed and grew blank.

* * *

He was completely surrounded by wildflowers and the scent of freshly rained upon earth. Everything smelled of Aziraphale and it was wondrous. Crowley felt cocooned in love and safety and he couldn’t remember the last time he ever felt safe. Probably before the Fall. The demon stretched and smiled with his eyes still closed and mind still between sleep and wakefulness. “Mmm.” He was oh so comfortable except one particular area below the waist that called his attention. His smile grew wider. 

If there was one thing that he enjoyed other than spending time with Aziraphale in person, it was spending time with Aziraphale in his own twisted mind. The days had blurred together and he wasn’t sure how long it had been since he last pleasured himself, a habit, much like sleep, that had grown on him over time once he tried it in the 1920s for the first time. 

Crowley squirmed with anticipation, tilting his pelvis up to feel the blankets against the aching bulge trapped in his pants. The blanket bunched upon his face and the angel’s scent shot through him again. He should have stolen a blanket sooner. The kerchiefs were nice but nothing compared to this. Crowley frowned. He couldn’t remember stealing a blanket. The fog of sleep lifted suddenly and his eyes snapped open. 

Aziraphale stood over him, eyes watching him intently. “Afternoon,” he greeted with a smirk.

The blanket was suddenly suffocating him in stifling heat. His eyes shifted in his sockets as he tried to remember how he got to the bookshop. The memories were choppy at best. All he knew, for now, was that he had one of those awful dreams and woke up in his angel’s arms - half-naked. He looked down at his covered body and caught a glimpse of the slightly tented area below his waist. Crowley pursed his lips and burned with embarrassment while he quickly brought up his knees. “Erm. How long have you been standing there?”

Aziraphale inhaled deeply and lied. “Just now, really. Thought I heard you finally stirring and came to check on you. How do you feel?”

Crowley’s mind reeled and tried to grasp at an intelligent response. “Okay?” He looked around again then met his friend’s eyes. “I slept until the afternoon, did I?”

“You’ve been asleep for four days,” admitted the angel and then cleared his throat.

“Oh, that’s ni-- WHAT?!” He sprang to sitting, the blanket falling to his waist, exposing his bare chest. “You’re pulling my leg.” 

Aziraphale motioned for Crowley to make room and sat on the sofa’s edge and faced him. Gently, he placed a hand on Crowley’s bare shoulder. “Nothing happened, Crowley. I would have woken you if it had. Everyone is fine. I made sure.”

Crowley was having trouble processing anything because the angel’s hand had mucked up his brain cells. What had he said? Nothing happened? “Nothing? You sure?” He was concentrating hard on not sending his gaze to the hand that persisted to torment his flesh. His pupils went thin and his irises widened over the whites of his eyes. Aziraphale would obviously notice the change and he didn’t have his specs to hide behind this time, but the angel didn’t comment on it.

“Not a thing. Adam is still abroad and doing just fine. The Pulsifers are splendid. I even took care of your plants, the ones in the main room and the ones you hide in the back as well.” He smiled. “And, no, I didn’t tell the plants your secret for the hundredth time.” He lied. He had told them they were in no danger from Crowley back when they had switched bodies but to keep pretending to fear him anyway.

“Four days?” Crowley sighed. 

“Yes, I’m afraid you quite needed it.” He squeezed Crowley’s shoulder and let his fingers graze on his skin as he removed his hand.

Crowley swallowed down his disappointment when Aziraphale stood up and walked out of sight. “Four bloody days.”

“I have coffee ready if you like?”

The demon peeked under the blanket at his persisting problem. He needed clothes. With a snap of his fingers, he was dressed in his usual, sunglasses and all. He felt better. Better than he had in years. “Whatever you did to me, can you put it in a bottle? Best sleep I’ve ever had.” 

Aziraphale poured Crowley a cup and raised his eyebrows with mock surprise. “I’m sure it was since you denied yourself sleep for a year, though you know very well your body has come to need it from time to time.” He smiled at the demon mirthlessly. The glasses may have hidden some of the demon’s shame, but not all of it. He could tell by the way he frowned and swayed in place, hands shoved halfway down his pockets, that Crowley was going to change the subject.

Crowley looked around the bookshop and noticed things seemed different. “Done something new with the place?”

Aziraphale gave Crowley his coffee, walked to a shelf, and picked up a ledger. “Yes, actually. I’m relabeling the shelves.” He went about his business. “I’ve reevaluated the inventory and decided it was time for a change.”

“Oh.” That was strange. Aziraphale rarely made any changes to the bookshop, if at all. Newt’s advice came to mind. Labels. Human constructs. Clueless Husbands. Reevaluation. Maybe with the anniversary over and done with, Aziraphale was finally coming around to the fact that they really were on their own side. Maybe he finally understood that, although not strictly Fallen, Heaven was now barred to him as well. There was also the point that the angel knew his secret now thanks to his own slip up with Anathema, and of course the episode four nights ago, and he hadn’t said much on either subject. Maybe it was time to talk after all. Crowley found a bit of courage. “I’m glad we’ve been left alone.”

The angel continued checking things off in his log, refusing to meet Crowley’s gaze. “Yes, quite a relief, I must say.”

That was a promising start. “Sort of makes me feel like I’ve been wasting a lot of time, you know, just waiting for something to happen.”

The angel grabbed a stack of books and transferred them to another shelf. “Mm. Yes.” 

Crowley took a step toward him. “For instance, making time to just enjoy ourselves.” He cleared his throat and tried shaking off his trepidation. 

“I agree. Would you hand me that small box of labels there?” He pointed and went back to work.

Crowley set down his coffee and did what was asked. It brought him much too close to the angel for the kind of talk he was trying spearhead. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale took a temporary label out of the box and placed in on the shelf. 

The demon nodded his head and pursed his lips and tried to seem casual. “Fascinating thing, Labels, eh?”  _ What the fuck?  _ Crowley internally kicked himself.

“How do you mean?” Aziraphale asked while also burying his face in his ledger, extremely focused on a speck of dust.

_ Might as well keep going now.  _ “Well, you know Humans. They often need them. To, erm, know what to expect. For instance, someone wants a book and they expect to find it in a certain place, yeah? They look for a label. Voila, it’s there! And-and labels can be very useful in  _ other _ situations…” Aziraphale closed his log and faced him. Panic started to build when the angel’s eyes (hazel at the moment) squinted in Crowley’s direction. 

“Like?”

_ Bollocks.  _ “Well, um,” he let out a small cough and scratched his head, “everything has a label, doesn’t it?” The little coffee he consumed began to kick at his stomach. “Words… are labels. If I say ‘put that thing on the table’ you wouldn’t put it on a chair, now would you?”  _ Shut up, Crowley. Just shut up.  _

“No, I suppose not,” the angel's tone was borderline bored. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”

The demon frowned and had a sneaking suspicion that Aziraphale knew where he was headed, which made everything much worse. His insides squirmed and his next words came out of him as if he was about to wretch. “Relationships?” A small groan escaped him. 

“Like friends.”

The demon nodded with exaggeration. “Exactly! Humans have certain expectations from their relationships based on such labels, like, friends or-or-or--”

The angel nodded slowly and stepped closer. “ _ Boyfriends _ ?”

_ Run, Crowley. Run for your life.  _ He swallowed down the bile and coffee. “Yeah.”

“Mhm.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a slow once over. “Or  _ monogamy _ .”

_ Oh, Satan.  _ He nodded again. “Right. Yes. Exactly.” He bared his teeth and hissed. “Yep.” He was stiff as a board and rocked on his feet, waiting for Aziraphale to give the final blow.

The angel turned his attention to the stack of books next to him and idly fingered their bindings. “Are we friends, Crowley?”

His heart clenched and he felt like he’d gone pale. “Ya-yeah, you’re my… best friend. I think you know.” He realized he had never said it to him like that before. “You do know, don’t you?”

Aziraphale ignored the question. His heart was fit to pound out of his chest. “Are you considering relabeling our relationship?” His voice ended on too high a pitch.

Crowley nearly fainted. “I’m open to it. If you are, that is.” 

The angel nodded and sniffed. “Yes, I believe I am.”

The demon let out a loud puff of air. “Good. Jolly good. Tickety...boo.” There was a long moment of silence. Aziraphale’s grave face made him realize that his proposition could be taken in a bad way. “I mean in a forward-moving direction. Evolving direction. More… than… just friends. Yeah?”

Aziraphale smiled and twitched his nose. “Very well. What do you propose?”

Crowley’s mouth dropped open and closed several times, feeling like he was about to fall in some kind of trap. The word “lovers” was sitting on his tongue like a lead weight and he was starting to feel a hot, prickly sensation on the back of his head. He stayed on the side of caution. “Well, angel, I feel like you’ve always been the one steering this horse. I’ll go along with whatever, really.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale while clasping his hands in front of him and furrowing his brow. “The term Clueless Husbands comes to mind.” 

“Ha!” Bless Anathema! He’d have to send her flowers or the moon itself. Crowley practically ran to close the distance between them. His hands itched to touch the angel. He knew the term was used as an attempt to make light of the situation, which he appreciated, but the sound of the word “husbands” coming out of those perfect lips did all kinds of things to Crowley’s insides. He clenched his fists to keep from grabbing Aziraphale's face and planting one on him. “Whatever you want, angel, I’m all for it.” He was practically dancing with anticipation. 

Aziraphale felt jittery with excitement or anxiety. Both. Whatever he chose would decide their fate entirely from that moment on. It was too much to bear. He’d been staring at Crowley’s naked torso for four days and had all kinds of sinful things pass through his mind he thought Crowley would be quite good at. Still, Crowley had to know he would not suffer any devious, two-timing. He looked at the demon who was presently gnawing on his upper lip, eyes hidden. “Crowley.”

“Yes?” He elongated the s. 

“I’m not a fool, you know?” He grew serious and flustered all at once. 

Crowley frowned. “What?”

The angel twiddled his fingers nervously. “I understand you wish to explore a more physical relationship. Why you didn’t just speak plainly instead of lying to me all this time is beyond me, but I’m not completely  _ clueless _ .”

The demon sputtered. “Well, I’ve been  _ trying  _ for ages!!”

“In any case, I will have you know that if we agree to a more intimate relationship that I expect complete faithfulness in  _ every _ regard.” There. He said it. Aziraphale straightened his coat and stood taller. “Understood?”

Crowley splayed his hands and shrugged. “Of course.”

Aziraphale seemed unsure. “Yes?”

“Yes. Do you really think I have anyone else on my  _ Rolodex _ I’d want to be with?” He scoffed.

“You don’t?”

Crowley baulked at his friend. “No, you beautiful idiot!”

Aziraphale smiled broadly. “Well, all right then. It’s settled.” He turned around and picked his ledger once more.

Crowley watched him for a few minutes in as if he’d just heard a joke that went over his head. He lifted his arms high then dropped and slapped his hands to his sides. “What’s settled?!”

The angel turned, surprised to see the demon appeared upset. “That we are now in an evolving, exclusive, intimate relationship, of course.” He explained like he was speaking to a child having trouble with a math equation.

Crowley shook his head to dispel the ridiculousness of the conversation. “Of course!”

Aziraphale’s eyes shifted with uncertainty. “Are you all right?”

“Yep. All good.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled out his mouth. “All right,” he relaxed and gathered his thoughts, “shouldn’t we do something to mark the occasion then?” The angel brightened. “Not food related!” The angel deflated. “Though that too, I suppose. I mean, like, I dunno, an embrace, handshake?” He swayed a bit. “ _ Kiss _ ?”

Aziraphale turned a healthy shade of tomato. “Ah.”

“Nevermind, forget I said it.” Crowley waved the suggestion away, feeling incredibly stupid. “You know what? I have a bottle of… something back at my place. We can drink to our new… label.” The widening of Azirphale’s terror-filled eyes put things into perspective again. Stupid. If getting to this point with the angel took six thousand-odd years, an invitation to kiss or drink at his flat would probably take a few centuries at least. “I’ll just go get it and come back. Or if you want to go out? We can go out! Food, yes? You like that.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. He needed air. “I’ll get the bottle now though. That way I don’t need to get later. Okay? Good. I’ll be back.” He was out the door before Aziraphale could get a word in.

Aziraphale was left behind doing his best impersonation of a goldfish. Everything that had just transpired played back in his mind. He frowned and nodded, then made his way to his telephone and dialled. He waited patiently as the phone rang and someone picked up.

“Yes, Anathema? … It’s Aziraphale. All good with the family? … Splendid. Well, I’m calling because I took your advice…” A small squeal of delight made him flinch. He chuckled nervously. “Yes… well,” his polite smile faded into misery, “now what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the story so far, please consider leaving a kudos and comments! It always makes my day.   
> <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and DM's! 
> 
> Lots of love and gratitude to my betas, you keep me going! Azeran & Darkphilosophe13

_ Time had still not been created yet. It was in the works though, and Jophiel wondered how much time had passed since his last lecture, and how much longer it would take for God to finally make good on her promise to create Earth so that he could take up his new position. He knew now that there was something dreadfully wrong with him and he was afraid someone would notice. Jophiel had a lot of time to think while on duty, staring at the white walls, nothing to do but read and reread the Word when he felt the boredom would surely swallow him whole. He was not happy. It was painful and frightening to admit it, and he had no one to confide in. He dared not tell Metatron. Not even the curious Aziraphale, the one who had approached him a few times after class, would understand.  _

_ A hopeful thought came to mind. Jophiel had never tried to express his feelings, but maybe the energetic angel would listen and help him gain insight as to what was wrong with him. That was the main problem, though. Jophiel knew there could not or should not be anything wrong. God had created him, and the Word said that God was good and perfect and had a plan for everyone and everything. How then could there be something wrong with him? That would mean that God was not perfect. Unless God purposefully made him incomplete as part of her plan, but then that would beg the question... why would a good God... allow one of her beloved angels to... suffer.  _

_ Old Friend sparked to life, and the archangel stood taller in anticipation of someone's arrival. It was not one but five angels, spearheaded by the most favoured of them all.  _

_ "Greetings, Jophiel," the Light Bearer hailed. _

_ Jophiel nodded in greeting. "Hello, Lucifer." He scanned the others and welcomed them as well. "Allocen, Gadreel, Andras, Kokabiel. Welcome, all. How may I be of service?" _

_ Lucifer smiled and approached him slowly. "We come wishing to understand the Word. We have questions and," he came closer still as to keep from others hearing, "who better than you, Protector of Wisdom, to help us understand?"  _

_ Jophiel nearly jumped with joy. "I'd be delighted." _

_ Lucier grew serious. "It's a delicate matter, Jophiel. We don't want others to know we were here." He looked behind him at his entourage, then back to Jophiel. "We've been feeling a bit odd, you might say. We don't want anyone to worry." _

_ The Guard took an interest at once. "Odd?" He observed the angels. Not one was smiling or seemed... happy. The void within him sought their own. "I understand all too well," he said gravely. The flames of his sword disappeared, and the doors to the vault opened. "Upon my word, I will say nothing. Enter." _   
  


* * *

It is not well known that the chemical release within a human body associated with excitement and fear are one and the same. Many humans purposefully place themselves in situations to instigate such a release as one will do when watching a horror film, or riding a roller coaster. The only real difference between exhilaration and downright panic is one's mental state at that point in time. So, to some extent, one has control over which emotion they would rather feel depending on the circumstance. As with the example of a theme park ride or a scary movie, the fear is anticipated, which gives a person a chance to enjoy the experience. 

However, if you are a demon whose love of their immortal life and best friend has just out of nowhere decided that now, after six millenniums, would possibly - someday - like to play a game of “Mr Wobbly hides his helmet,” well, this would be considered unanticipated. In which case, the demon in question, Anthony J. Crowley, had been faced with a term you have probably heard before, the Flight or Fight response. He chose flight. 

The Bentley was nowhere in sight. He had no patience to hail a taxi or wait for a bus. Crowley tore down the street in some strange, exaggerated saunter on his Satan- given legs in the direction of what he would soon find out was a pub. All the way there, the demon yelled to himself while gesticulating wildly and randomly kicking his long legs, looking like a roadside flailing Tube Man. 

“Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit! What just happened?! What in Satan's name just bloody happened?! Ah right! Let's just change everything! One moment to the next just decide - oh yeah - let's just have an 'evolving, exclusive, intimate relationship' after nil for aeons and aeons like-like-like we just decided on ordering a  _ pizza _ !"

Before he knew it, he was in an establishment that served alcohol. Loads and loads of alcohol. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the bartender. "Oi! Whiskey!"

The frumpy man behind the bar quirked a brow. "What kind?"

"ALL OF IT!" 

There was nowhere to sit. Knowing full well he shouldn't be doing too many miracles outside Anathema's established parameters, lest Hell knows where he was located, he snapped his fingers again and sent a drunken patron halfway across town and sat in his stool at the bar. It took another miracle for no one to notice the stunt. The bartender was quick to slide a glass before him and began to pour. When he was done with his pour, Crowley thanked him and grabbed the bottle right out of his hands. The bartender could not see the glare behind his dark lenses, but he sure as Hell felt it. He held up his hands in surrender and let the demon be.

For the first hour or so, Crowley was silent and concentrated very hard on getting as drunk as possible. Once he hit his peak, he was slurring aloud to himself.

"Six thousand years. Took six thousand years t' finally, finally, get t' this poin'!" He groaned with misery. "Y' know, I should be 'appy, but-but it's jus' so sudden? I think. I mean, 's wha' I wan'ed. I dunno what's wrong with me."

The air suddenly felt thick.

"Well, how do you feel?" Asked a stranger sitting next to him.

Crowley turned to face the voice. He tried to focus his blurred vision and failed. Whoever it was, a listening ear was too tempting to pass up. "Like hell. And-and I know somethin' 'bout that. Believe me you - you me!"

"I dunno, mate. Sounds to me you might have some doubts. Maybe it's not what you really want."

The demon shook his head, nearly sending him toppling off his seat. "N-n-n-no. I wan' it. I-oh-I wan' it. Been wanting it. For-for--"

"Six thousand years, yeah, I get it." The man chuckled. "A long time. Well, look, taking things to the next step is always a little odd, but, and correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems you're wrestling with some demons."

Crowley laughed. "You've no idea."

"Ah, there it is! Guilt maybe."

The demon frowned and turned to the man again after looking down at his empty glass for a long and thoughtful moment. "Why would I feel guilty?" 

The man's tone grew severe and profound. "Oh, I dunno. I mean, why did it take so long to get to this point, you think?"

Crowley had trouble handling the bottle to pour himself another drink. He gave up and took a sip straight from the bottle. He knew the answer. He knew what he'd done, been doing for six millenniums. "It took some convincing," he drawled, quite depressed. "I, erm, wasn't his type, let's say. Different… beliefs." He elongated the S. The conversation was going down a path that Crowley had dreaded ever having to say or admit aloud. 

"Religion?"

The demon pursed his lips. "You can say that." He stayed silent, contemplating on everything he had done over the years to make Aziraphale budge, one smidge at a time away from the light. He swallowed down his guilt. Guilt.  _ So, it is guilt then. _

"Hey, mate." The man patted his shoulder reassuringly. "People change, with or without anyone's help. If that change has finally brought you two together, what does it matter how? It's in the past. Just enjoy it while you can." Another pat to the shoulder and the man got up and left.

From that point on, Crowley sat immobile, staring at his empty glass.   
  


* * *

_ "Brandish your weapon, Jophiel! War has come!" Cried Allocen as he and the other rebel angels ran past him.  _

_ Jophiel had no time to think as chaos erupted all around him. His new companions had scattered, and Gabriel was charging right for him. Gadreel spurred forward and intercepted the attack. He watched as Gabriel's eyes widened. _

_ "You too?! Traitor!" _

_ Gadreel took to the sky, sending a kick to the larger angel's chin. "Stay out of the way, Gabriel! For your own good!" _

_ Before long, more angels descended, and Jophiel had no other option but to fight back. They had branded him as a rebel. He had done it to himself. He swung his sword, hoping to scare most away. He did not have the heart to cut them down. When armed angels attacked, Holy weapons met and crashed together, sending loud and thunderous echoes into the vast halls of Heaven.  _

_ They were winning. They had to be because the rebels were pushing their opponents back. Some let out cries of victory, but then loud shouts came from above. Jophiel sent his gaze upward and took a defensive stance. His eyes caught the familiar profile of Aziraphale. The face that usually was so jovial and shy was now grave and full of righteous anger. He was leading a small platoon of lower angels and was heading straight for Jophiel's group. The charge was full-on and all-encompassing. Jophiel raised his sword to shield himself and then he heard him.  _

_ "Surrender! Please stop this! We don't need to fight!" Aziraphale's voice rang out, his pleas cracking with passion. "End this now! I don't want to hurt--" _

_ Aziraphale's words had been cut off, and Jophiel feared for the lower angel's safety. He turned to locate his favourite student, and golden eyes met hazel ones. The look of utter betrayal on Aziraphale's face was enough to slice through Jophiel. That was the first time he felt true pain. The fighting, the screaming, and the clashing fell away as Jophiel stared at Aziraphale with shame. _

_ "No," the student breathed, mouth quivering with emotion. "Why?" Tears began to fall. _

* * *

A man exited the bar. He had no striking or discernable features. Just an average, everyday bloke whose life was not very exciting in the least. His name is not important, but his desire is. He desired change, and he was open to anything under the sun if it meant his life would turn on its head. Too open. Open enough for a demon to take possession. When he made his way to a back alley behind the pub, the man doubled over and vomited all over the pavement. The foul discharge melded and congealed into some sort of blob, then slopped its way further into the darkness.

Gabriel was utterly disgusted as he watched Beelzebub take form from the clunky puke. Having been suited with a body this time around, he gagged. "Oh, God, that's - ugh - did you really have to - blech - that's so gross."

Beelzebub wiped their boot free of the last chunk of sick and smiled at the convulsing angel. "Didn't know you were such a delicate flower."

He gave one final sound of disgust and asked his burning question. "What happened? Were you able to get more information?"

Beelzebub wanted to laugh maniacally, but they settled for an evil glint in their eyes. "More than I needed."

"Well?!" He shook his hands in front of him with impatience.

"Crowley and Aziraphale are now romantically involved." They stressed the V's. 

Gabriel scowled. "What do you mean?"

The demon prince frowned. "What do you mean, what do I mean? They're a couple. In love by the sound of it." They were disgusted.

The information sank into his mind slowly. "Wait. You mean... like, like humans?"  Beelzebub nodded.  "Oh God! You mean they're doing - making -they're..." He finished his thoughts by making crude hand gestures smashing together.

"Knowing each other in the biblical sense? Yes. Or will soon anyway."

"EW!" He was disgusted. "You're sure?"

The demon rolled their eyes. "He yapped for hours about it. Yes."

"Revolting."

"I agree. But this is fortuitous news indeed." They smiled wickedly. "I've planted doubt in Crowley's mind."

Gabriel couldn't help but smirk. "And he didn't even notice. Well, I'm impressed."

The acknowledgement was like a knife in the chest. The demon levitated off the ground and met the archangel nose to nose. Their voice rumbled with pure evil. "I am not one of your subordinates! I do not need a gold star from your pretty little teeth."

Gabriel held his hand in surrender. He could smite the little beast down, but it would be bad business. "Didn't mean to insult you. It was an honest compliment." The demon growled. "Fine, fine. I'm sorry." He smiled innocently.

Beelzebub turned away from him and fumed. Their assigned body felt strange. Confused. "Nevermind." Their voice went back to its usual timbre, and they lowered to the ground.

"So, now what?"

"Now, we wait." They smiled again. "Let them enjoy their fruitless romance. Then we'll tear them apart." 

"Excellent."

* * *

  
  
Crowley stumbled to his door with a bottle of whiskey wrapped in a paper bag. He patted his pockets for his keys and realized he never had them in the first place. "Aw, bugger. Frivolous demonic miracle comin'," he belched, "comin' up!" Just before he snapped his fingers, the door opened. There stood Aziraphale with an unreadable expression. "Uh-oh."

The angel gave the demon a once over then opened the door wider and motioned for Crowley to enter. 

"Um, hi." He wasn't sure if he should approach, the angel seemed peeved and hadn't spoken yet. "What, uh, wha' ya doin 'ere?" They'd never been at his flat at the same time. Together.

"You said you'd pop over to your flat and be back. It's been three and a half hours."

"Oh yeah. Yeah." He grimaced and squirmed in place. "You angry with me?" He really hoped not. The thought of hurting his angel's feelings, especially after their earlier conversation, made him want to wretch.

"Best come in." Was all he said as he disappeared inside.

Crowley took one step inside and then thought better of it. He concentrated hard on sobering up, but not too much. He figured he may need some of the liquid courage for whatever was going to happen next. Once his senses were back to normal, he meandered inside and shut the door behind him. His feet took him to the kitchen, where Aziraphale waited patiently with a glass of water and bar stool pulled up for the demon to sit on.

Crowley took the offered drink and sat. Aziraphale now had the few inches of advantage that were usually reserved for the demon, when he managed to stand straight enough. "You're angry with me."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on the counter. "I'm not. I'm just--"

"Don't say disappointed. That's worse. Always worse." 

"I'm worried. I was worried. Am worried." He met Crowley's gaze and internally cursed the blasted glasses he hid behind. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you." He slouched in shame. He knew what it felt like to worry for a friend.

"No, Crowley, I understand that you needed time to process our conversation. I wasn't worried for your safety. I'm worried that..." he took a breath to steady his resolve, "I'm worried that you regret it. Our decision." This was difficult. More difficult than he anticipated. His heart was fit to shatter. He couldn't help the tears welling up in his eyes.

Crowley's eyes bulged. He shook his head, placed his glass back on the counter, and stood. "I don't. Not if you don't." Guilt or no, he wanted Aziraphale, that much he knew. He was selfish like that. He was a demon, after all. "You don't?"

Aziraphale felt some relief but not much. "No," he choked out, barely able to keep his emotions in check. He turned away from the demon. If Crowley could hide behind his glasses, then he could turn away. A hand wrapped around his arm and dragged him back.

"Angel," he murmured. The liquid courage must have been working because he did something he'd never done before, but always dreamed of doing. He laced his fingers through Aziraphale's and brought him close. It was a pleasant surprise that the angel responded quickly and turned into him. 

Aziraphale kept his eyes downcast, closing them often to concentrate on breathing. He could stop altogether and save himself some of the overwhelmingness of it all, but he wanted to feel every blessed moment. His breath hitched when he felt Crowley's other hand rest on his waist inside his coat. He let the demon bring him closer into an embrace. This one was different than the last. Before, he had been stiff. Terrified and relieved all at once. This time, the demon was slow, cautious, and melted into him. Their bodies were pressed firmly together with warm affection for the very first time. An act he only thought Crowley capable of in his imaginings. 

"This all right?" Asked Crowley, desperately hoping for a yes.

Aziraphale sniffed and nodded. "Yes." It was barely above a whisper. He lifted his trembling free arm and held onto Crowley's shoulder. Their cheeks were almost touching. 

Crowley rooted his feet and locked his hips to keep from swaying in place. He was dizzy with emotion, Aziraphale was his only anchor, and he realized then that he always had been. His guide. His true north. It was need, more than courage, that sent his cheek seeking Aziraphale's. The contact was exquisite, and Crowley wondered how he had managed to exist this long without it. He needed to touch and be touched. He always had.

Aziraphale could feel Crowley's whiskey-scented breath on his ear, shallow and erratic, and it made him shiver. He wanted to say something desperately. Wanted to say aloud how much he was terribly in love with him, but it would not come out. His fear that the demon would scoff or scorn, or worse, push him away kept his sentiments locked in his throat. So he said the only thing he could with as much love and need as he could. "Crowley," he whispered, his own breath tickling the demon's jaw.

Damn it all to Hell, he was going to faint. The world tilted a bit and the angel, bless him, gripped him harder and pushed into him to steady them both. Aziraphale released his death gripping fingers, clutched onto his other arm, and leaned away to take stock of him. The angel's eyes widened a bit before his hand cupped the demon's face and thumbed some wetness from his cheek. 

"Those yours or mine?" Aziraphale chuckled with embarrassment.

Crowley could let him believe he was not capable of softness. He could make him think he only cried in bad dreams. In answer, he removed his glasses and tossed them aside, exposing his smiling moist eyes. "Ours, I think." He was bestowed with an angelic smile. It was all worth it for that smile. "What do you want to do now?" He asked gently, slipping his other hand on his angel's waist and eliciting a blush from those lovely cheeks. 

"Well, erm, it's all a bit strange, isn't it?" He chuckled again. Aziraphale felt too warm. He could feel his face and neck were flushed, and his collar felt too tight. Crowley's hands under his coat, resting so tenderly on his person were burning him up.

Crowley shrugged. "Let's get used to it then." The only reason he was able to let go of his angel was that he fully intended to ravage him on his sofa. He tried his best to stifle the sudden appetite building at an alarming degree. The smallest effort is all it took on his part to feel the urge. He had been waiting for so long, after all. 

The demon entwined their fingers once more and led him to the desired destination. Crowley sat first, casually leaning against the backrest, and tugged on Aziraphale to sit next to him. The angel sat stiff and erect on the very edge and cleared his throat. The tempting serpent rose to the surface and sent Crowley forward to place his hands on the angel's shoulders. He dipped his long fingers into his coat and slowly began to pull it off him. 

Aziraphale swallowed hard, and panic began to rise. He flinched, and the demon stopped instantly. They were frozen there a moment before Aziraphale finally spoke and fidgeted. "What, uh, what are you doing?"

"Just want us to be at ease," he said innocently and began his task again. He smiled at the back of Aziraphale's head when he gave in and shrugged out of his first layer. "Can't be easy in all that for us to get comfortable." He willed his lust to cool a bit as not to scare off his rigid, little bird who was finally eating out of the palm of his hand. 

Crowley was feeling quite brave, indeed. The plan was to be slow and cautious with his cajoling. Start off with an innocent arm around his shoulder, and maybe run his fingers through those blond curls, and if all continued to go well, he'd try a chaste peck on the cheek. If things progressed after that, all the better, but he was ready to stop pushing his luck at a moment’s notice. There was no real destination in mind now that his desire had been quelled some. All he wanted was to feel his angel in whatever way he was allowed. A modest cuddle on the couch would be sufficient. Aziraphale probably couldn't handle much more than that anyway, and that was a-okay for him.

Crowley removed his own blazer and was about to guide Aziraphale into the crook of his arm when the angel abruptly turned, snatched fistfuls of his shirt, and pulled him into a closed-lipped smack on the mouth. The demon's eyes shot wide open with shock, his arms fell limp first, then the rest of him followed suit.

Aziraphale moaned into Crowley when he felt him crush his lips deeper. He was glad the coat was off, how he continued to burn hot! He thought things were going splendidly, and when Crowley's mouth opened, he may have thought it was a bit forward, but went along with it. What the hell, it felt good, he thought, but then Crowley's head fell forward and his slack mouth dragged over Aziraphale's chin and down his shirt until Crowley's head landed limply in his lap. "Oh, dear! Let's not get too hasty..." Aziraphale giggled tensely, pitch high with nerves, then grimaced. The demon was not moving. "Crowley?" He shook him a little. Nothing. Aziraphale gripped onto his head and tilted it sideways. 

The wily serpent... had fainted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr and IG @mordellestories if you want to follow!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I mentioned in my updates that this chapter was going to be much longer, but after taking a look at my outline, I realized that it would be way too long. The next chapter is supposed to be the fun and games where we will explore some fun stuff between Crowley/Aziraphale and Beelzebub/Gabriel. This chapter is setup for that and, honestly, probably belonged in the previous chapter, but oh well! 
> 
> I apologize for that, but I promise, those of you here for some sexy business, will get some in the next chapter. I wasn’t planning on being too explicit because first, it’s exhausting to write and takes me a long time and second, I’m just not sure it fits the tone of this story… BUT one of my friends expressed some thorough OUTRAGE at that notion. So, it’s getting STEAMY lol. 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta’s: Azeran & Darkphilosophe13

_ "Aziraphale, I-I can explain--" Before Jophiel could tell Aziraphale what had happened, and why, a swarm of angels engulfed him.  _

_ "Retreat! Retreat!" Voices cried out with alarm. _

_ Retreat? But where would they go? There was nowhere to go! Jophiel fought against the thick current of rebels pushing past him, but there were too many. His student's face grew further and further away, and in one last attempt to be saved, he threw his arm out and reached for the angel with a pleading cry for help.  _

_ Aziraphale's eyes widened with urgency, and he, too, reached for the rebel without a second thought, but it was too late. In the pushing, bumping, and slamming, Jophiel lost hold of his flaming sword and was carried away.  _

_ Where were they going? He did not know. It was over. They had lost. They should surrender, not retreat! The ground trembled beneath them and split open. Millions of angels were clumped together, no room for their wings to save them from their inevitable fall. So fall they did. Down, down, downwards. Wings. Limbs. Bodies in white. All tumbled through space and time and falling around Jophiel. For a brief moment, he wondered if this is what snow would look like once it was created.  _

_ The crash was painful and left him paralyzed with confusion, then the stench of something foul brought him back to his senses. An unbearable heat washed over him, and anguished wails filled the air. Then he felt it — the Absence. Whatever void he had felt in Heaven was nothing compared to the abyss he felt now. It was more painful than the landing, more encompassing than the bodies crushing him to the burning ground. It was, it was... Hell.  _

_ The word was known to all without ever having learned it before. Without needing anyone to tell them, they knew this is where they, the traitors, would fester for all of eternity. Separated from their home forever. Cut off from God, their maker. Severed from the source of love herself. Here lies the root of the misconception that demons cannot love. What kind of punishment would that be? No, the real sentence for a Fallen angel is the never-ending yearning to be loved and knowing they can never attain it.  _

_ Jophiel understood this as, did all the others. They were unworthy. They were filth. They were as black as the soot that stained their wings, and nothing could ever make them clean again.  _

_ As the Fallen finally stood and followed the voice of their leader, Jophiel stayed behind, staring blankly at the dark clouds of smoke swirling in the sky. His tears had no chance to roll down his cheeks; the heat of Hell stole those from him as well. His despair left him lifeless. The fallen archangel scoured through of all the knowledge he had acquired since the Dawn of his existence to comprehend who and what he was now. He felt low and grounded as if he'd never fly again. Thin and dark. Despite the heat surrounding him, he felt cold. Like the snakes yet to slink on the Earth that was promised. Slithery. Crawly. _

* * *

  
  


"Crowley."

Aziraphale's delicate scent wafted through his nose, and there was a lovely sensation raking against his scalp, and he never wanted it to end.

"Wake up now."

Crowley's eyes fluttered open. This was the second time he'd woken to find his angel hovering over him. He took in the celestial being who was smiling smugly down at him. 

"Hello," Aziraphale greeted with a knowing grin. "Feeling better?"

Crowley frowned. Aziraphale had no coat, no waistcoat, no bow-tie, and his shirt was undone two buttons down. The memory came in a flash, and his cheeks began to burn. "What happened?"

Aziraphale's eyes crinkled with mirth. "Oh, nothing really."

The demon's scowl grew deeper. "Damn right,  _ nothing _ , and you better remember that," he grumbled. His shame sent him to sit up. He looked around and realized he'd been laying on the sofa on his back, with his head cradled on Aziraphale's lap, and the lovely scratching on his skull had been the angel's blessed caress. Remembering the kiss nearly sent him collapsing once more. The humiliation of it all! "Where are my glasses?" He demanded bitterly, refusing to face his friend, or whatever he was to him now.

"What glasses?" He responded, innocently.

"What do you mean what--" he whipped around to look at the angel's face that held a look of challenge. "You didn't."

Aziraphale shrugged. "Whatever do you mean?"

Crowley tore himself off the sofa and stumbled into his study. He opened the cabinet that held his spare lenses. They had all been replaced by small boxes wrapped in plastic. "No," he breathed. "No-no-no." He took a handful of them out, turned around, and shook them. "What's this?!" He already knew, but he wanted the horror confirmed.

Aziraphale peeked his head into the study and smirked. "A  _ fascinating _ human invention, Crowley." He walked in and splayed his hands as if revealing a magic trick. "They're called  _ contact lenses _ ! You can now blend in with Humanity whenever we're in public." He wrinkled his nose, smiled, and stopped right in front of the demon. "And whilst we're  _ alone _ ," he lifted a hand to cup Crowley's face, "you'll never hide those beautifully expressive eyes you have from me again." He patted the demon's cheek, then took the boxes out of his hand, and placed them back in the cabinet.

The angel was a little devil in disguise. Crowley scoffed. "Dirty. Sure you haven't completely fallen?" The words had left his mouth before he could stop them. He gasped at the same time Aziraphale stiffened, back still turned to him. "I-I didn't mean that. Bad joke."

It had stung, but Aziraphale closed the cabinet, put on a polite smile, and turned to face Crowley. "Think nothing of it. As you've said before," he stood a little taller, "'we're on our own side.'" 

Crowley nodded, but still felt awful. 

The angel smiled. "Now, I believe you mentioned food and a bottle of something to mark our precipitous plunge into our new  _ arrangement _ ?" He pursed his lips and thought deeply. "Something romantic, though I like the idea of staying in." He brightened suddenly. "Ah! Some French cuisine, I think. Quenelles de Brochet or something and - oh - for dessert, I would really like a chocolate souffle! Non-negotiable. I've been craving it for weeks!" 

His angel practically glowed with happiness, which made Crowley's insides warm and fuzzy. When Aziraphale wiggled in place with giddiness, it was too much for him. The demon reached for the angel, pulled him closer, and leaned in to kiss him and regain his dignity. 

Aziraphale leaned back, making Crowley stop in his tracks. "One moment!" He snapped his fingers, seemingly pleased with himself. "Just a precaution. You may proceed."

Crowley tilted his head and furrowed his brow. A glance over his shoulder revealed a bright red, Victorian fainting couch. Crowley looked back at his angel whose eyes were twinkling with mischief. "Oh, you are  _ hilarious _ ," he deadpanned.

Aziraphale felt proud of his little joke, indeed. "Why thank you," he replied genuinely. His smile faltered when his gaze fell on Crowley's lips, and his eyes glossed over with need. The tip of his tongue darted out with anticipation.

Crowley couldn't believe it, but didn't care. Dream, wild imaginings, or an evil trick, it didn't matter. He was going to kiss those lips and kiss them proper. He slid his fingers into those white-blond curls and closed the distance between them slowly. Where Aziraphale's kiss was abrupt and full of passion, Crowley's was tentative, exploratory, and light. He hardly put any pressure at all, just barely ghosted his slightly parted mouth over the angel's, exploring every minuscule sensation that threatened to overwhelm him once more and send him toppling onto the chaise behind him.

Six. Millenniums. Six. Thousand. Years. Longer, even. The angel who took up almost every waking and sleeping thought he had ever had was here in his grasp, willing and welcoming. After a shaky breath, Crowley pushed closer. The lips he had dreamed of were warmer and softer in real life. He couldn't help it. He wept, full of longing and gratitude, into those glorious lips and nearly cried when Aziraphale responded with a soft whimper. 

Aziraphale was glad of the choice of furniture he produced because he was certain it would be his turn to collapse. No one had ever kissed him like this. From the few others that he had the pleasure of exploring this sort of thing with he had felt desired, had felt cared for, and he had felt kindness and lust, but never this. This was none of those things. At this very moment, he felt loved, cherished…  _ worshipped _ . 

Eyes still closed, their lips parted, but their foreheads leaned on each other for much-needed support. "Oh my," Aziraphale breathed. "That," he panted, "that was sensational."

"Good," Crowley husked back, "let's do it again."

They did it again until their noses tingled from the erratic breaths between kisses and after that, they stumbled back into a wall and went at it anew. Hands that had lain trembling and innocent began to explore confidently in every which direction. They couldn't even hold onto one thought long enough to make sense of themselves or what they encountered. Shoulders, chest, face, waist, hips, the hem of trousers--

Crowley dragged his lips away, bared his teeth, and hissed harshly on Aziraphale's cheek when the angel's hand somehow became trapped between them a great deal low below the belt. 

_ "Fuck!" _

The needy haze began to lift at the oath, and Aziraphale realized too late what had caused it. The angel was stuck between a hard wall and an equally hard demon. Crowley pushed into him further and dropped his head onto his shoulder. The demon's breath was ragged and wild on his damp neck, which only excited the angel more, but if Crowley had fainted from a mere kiss before, who knew what would happen if he moved even a pinky. 

"Erm, apologies," Aziraphale said quickly and breathlessly, "purely accidental, I can assure you."

A few wheezes passed before Crowley could respond. "Ah, well, in that case, all is forgiven," he grated. He shut his eyes hard and concentrated on not thrusting his hips forward. 

"Perhaps we should consider a recess."

Crowley nodded quickly. "Probably a good idea." 

Aziraphale waited for Crowley to peel himself off him. His eyes shifted in his sockets when the demon did nothing but continue hissing on his neck. "You'll have to move," he explained kindly.

"Yep."

They were getting nowhere. "Crowley, if I move, then--"

"I'm  _ aware _ of that, but I don't think--" A loud rumbling growl interrupted him. He opened his eyes and saw Aziraphale's neck turn an even deeper shade of red. "Was that your stomach?" 

Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes. "How humiliating," he fussed.

Crowley buried his face in his angel's neck and sniggered, which turned into a breathy chuckle, and then they were both laughing. "Oh no, don't-laugh-don't-laugh!" He half begged as their bodies trembled from the merriment, sending jolts between his legs. He could no longer stand it. Still chuckling, Crowley turned to one side and crashed into the wall next to Aziraphale. He braced himself to keep standing and took in one lone steadying breath and exhaled with a woosh. "All right, angel, let's go out instead before things get out of hand."

"Right, right - oh, was that a pun? That was funny." 

"It really wasn't."

The pair were able to right themselves after slow progress. Crowley patted his person, looking for his favourite accessory and groaned when he remembered Aziraphale's retaliation for the candles. He sauntered to the cabinet to pluck a box of contacts but was surprised to see that his sunglasses were back. He choked on his emotions and snatched up a pair, then turned to see his angel shrugging on his coat. The demon watched him for a moment with a stupid closed-mouthed smile on his face. He'd have to replace the candles. 

Appropriately dressed, but still flushed and flustered, they made it to L'Escargot just in time for a miraculous opening for two. The quiet and slight awkwardness was brief, and they chatted and ate like usual. The normality of it all made Crowley feel like their passionate little tryst at his flat may not have happened at all, but at one particular point in Aziraphale's praise of the food that had been served, the angel placed his hand on Crowley's and squeezed it. Dinner was excellent, the wine was delicious, and the dessert was downright sinister. The chocolate souffle, which was not on the menu, was sending Aziraphale into food Heaven while sending Crowley into a libidinous Hell. 

Aziraphale made the slightest of moans and licked his lips, bringing up his napkin too late. When he opened his eyes, he found Crowley leaning halfway across the table toward him, lips pursed and knuckles white under his chin. He'd seen this kind of behaviour from him before, but in a more mild manner. It was apparent now that the snake was ravenous, and not for the souffle.

The angel mused on how long the demon may have lusted for him over the ages. He couldn't bring himself to believe it was too long. After all, he was originally of angel stock and even with a body, they had to choose to have any kind of carnal pleasures. There was no inherent need for it, and yet he couldn't remember a time when Crowley didn't just stare at him while he relished in a meal. Oysters, Aziraphale gasped. Their first meal together was in Rome, and Crowley looked much like he did now, just less blatant. No, it couldn't be, Aziraphale thought. It wasn't just lusting anymore, though was it? The way the demon had kissed him had been deliberate and tender, as if he'd dreamed up the scenario a thousand times over. Aziraphale's mind was reeling with questions. If Crowley were capable of love, then did he love him? And for how long? He would have to ask. He had to know.

"You're staring, angel," the demon grinned. 

Aziraphale took another slow, methodical bite of chocolate and watched the demon's smile fall. By the time Aziraphale swallowed, Crowley's mouth was slack in an undignified manner. "No," he finally replied simply, "I'm staring back. Close your mouth, Crowley. It's unseemly. You'll drivel on the table yet."

The grin was back. "Never complained before."

"Well, you were never so obvious."

"Wasn't I?" He tilted his head and eyebrows peaked above the rim of his glasses.

The angel studied the demon some more. Their spat in 1801 had been riddled with double meaning, or so he thought at the time. Their reconciliation during the war, when Crowley had saved his books, was the tipping point for Aziraphale. But when was Crowley's? 

Aziraphale cleared his throat and ignored the heat rushing to his face. "How long have you been pining for me, Crowley?" He didn't think the demon's eyebrows could get any higher, but they did.

Crowley's whipped his head in several directions. "Wha-well-erm--" he spotted their waiter within a short distance and lifted a finger. 

"Crowley?" Aziraphale wondered if perhaps his answer would depress him. What if he never pined at all? His meal suddenly wasn't sitting well. "I'm sorry if I presumed--"

The waiter was there in a flash. "Oui--"

"L'addition s'il vous plait!" Crowley nearly barked. He busied himself with folding his napkin. If Aziraphale pressed the matter, he was in trouble. He couldn't tell him the truth, that would be insane, but how could he lie? It was not like he never lied to Aziraphale before, but this was different. The angel was quiet. Too quiet. Crowley chanced a look and found Aziraphale looking incredibly uncomfortable and flustered. The demon bit down on his lower lip to keep from spilling the beans. He couldn't leave his angel in distress, but he also couldn't tell him he'd decided on pursuing him from the moment his eyes beheld him in the Garden. That would undoubtedly lead to more questions he was nowhere near ready to answer, if ever. "It's a lovely night, angel. Why don't we walk to the bookshop?"

Aziraphale inhaled sharply and nodded curtly. "That would be nice."

* * *

  
_ The angel Aziraphale stood alone in the Records Room, hunched over the scrolls depicting a garden. He had read this scroll too many times to count. It was the last lecture ever given by his teacher, his friend. Or he thought they were friends, that is to say, Aziraphale had been working on getting to that point. Since his creation, Aziraphale had been content. As content as an angel in Heaven. Then he started classes just as all the other angels were required to do and he grew... hungry. The archangel Jophiel always taught the Word with such passion and genuine awe, how could Aziraphale not crave for more knowledge? His favourite classes were always about Humans and the Earth. They were Jophiel's as well. He was the only one he could truly talk to about such things, but Aziraphale had been shy. He never dreamed that a higher angel would take the time to speak to him outside of their duties, but Jophiel had.  _

_ Aziraphale wiped away a single tear. "My cowardice is to blame. Had I been a better student, more inquisitive, quicker to befriend you, maybe you wouldn't have felt so alone."  _

_ "Aziraphale?" The archangel Micheal approached.  _

_ The blond angel dried his cheeks, sniffed, and turned. "Greetings, Archangel Michael. I shall leave forthwith." _

_ "I am not here to study. Your presence is needed. A briefing will commence soon, and you have been assigned to my department." _

_ "Assigned?" Aziraphale was confused. He'd never been sought after by the higher angels, let alone assigned to them. "Me?" _

_ Micheal nodded. "It is a great honour. A higher authority has noted your valour in the war." _

_ Now he was very confused. He'd hardly done a thing. The war had ended almost as soon as his platoon arrived. "Thank you?" _

_ "Come now." Michael turned and left the vault. _

_ Aziraphale rolled up the scroll as gently as could be, then filed it away. He walked out of the Records Room and looked over his shoulder one final time before heading off. _

_ The angels had gathered to hear whatever news was about to be given. The archangel Gabriel took centre floor along with Uriel and Micheal. _

_ Gabriel raised his hands in welcome. "Fellow angels, we have all been grieving the loss of our friends," his gaze grew dark, "or who we thought were our friends." He let his arms drop and lifted his head higher. "But we must move on. We are angels! There is much to be done in preparation for God's Works, and we can no longer waste any valuable time mourning traitors. We must forget them and go forth." _

_ A murmur of agreement echoed from the crowd. Aziraphale remained silent. _

_ Gabriel smiled and continued. "So, it is with great deliberation, that we have decided," he paused and looked around the room, "to redact the names of the rebels." _

_ Aziraphale's eyes widened, and he searched for others who may be as outraged as he was, but found no one. Angry angels nodded and cried out their approval. Aziraphale raised his hand tentatively. "Excuse me!" Um, excuse me? Archangel Gabriel!" _

_ Gabriel zeroed in on the new assignee. "Yes?" _

_ "I, was just wondering... erm, what does that mean... exactly? Just redacting from paperwork... or-or--" _

_ "From everything," Gabriel explained.  _

_ Aziraphale's mouth dropped open, and he was about to say something else, but Gabriel raised a hand to silence the room. "We will forget them in every sense of the word. Their names and who they once were. It's the only way for us to all to move forward and be happy again. And angels need to be happy, yes?" _

_ Aziraphale raised his hand again and drew closer. "Um, hello, sorry, but... what if we don't want to forget?" _

_ The angels stared at him with annoyance and disbelief. _

_ Gabriel forced a polite smile and approached the lower angel, clasping a hand to his shoulder. "Angels are not meant to suffer, Aziraphale. There is no choice in the matter." He let him go and addressed his audience once more. "Which is why the rebels will keep their memories. They must continue to pay for their actions. They must never forget what they've done or what they've lost in the process." He was about to conclude when he realized he'd left out a bit of information. "Oh, right! One last thing. The rebels will no longer be called angels. They will be called demons henceforth!" He smiled brightly and clapped his hands. "Thank you for coming!"  _

_ The angels dispersed, leaving a troubled Aziraphale behind. _   
  


* * *

  
  


The angel had been quiet on their walk to the bookshop. Crowley did his best to comment on things they came across along the way, but when all he could think of was to mention the weather, the demon drew the line. 

"Oh, c 'mon, angel! What's the matter?" He already knew.

Aziraphale sighed. "Nothing. It's just been a topsy turvy day, hasn't it? But in a good way!" His smile was weak. "Just thinking."

"Well, tell me what you're thinking then," he drawled and reached for him, interlacing their fingers.

The angel smiled down at their linked hands. "I don't want to upset you."

Crowley threw his head back dramatically. "Oh, no. Now you have to tell." He laughed good-naturedly and squeezed his angel's hand to reassure him, though he didn't feel very confident himself. 

Aziraphale smirked shyly and gathered is thoughts. "Well, I suppose I've wondered about something. I never asked because I thought it would put you out." He looked at Crowley, who seemed expectant. He slowed his gait but continued forward while he looked at his shoes. "Can demons love?" His heart constricted as he asked the question. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth.

Crowley rooted his feet to the ground, tugging Aziraphale to a stop in the process. He stared at the angel who refused to face him, whose gaze appeared to be preparing for the worst. Crowley drew closer, removed his glasses, and gently turned Aziraphale's face to meet his gaze. His angel's eyes were shifty and nervous. "I can't speak for all of them, but," he thumbed Aziraphale's jaw, "this one does."

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath, and his eyes grew moist. "That's good to hear," he choked out. 

The demon quirked a brow and swaggered suavely. "Is it? Well, I've wondered something myself--" a gust of wind brought a hint of sulfur with it. Crowley sniffed the air sharply and looked around wildly.

"Crowley? What--"

"Shush!" The demon scanned the area for enemies. He found nothing but a few couples in dark corners. He was not left at ease. "Let's go." He marched forward, keeping a firm hold of his angel.

"Did you sense something?" Aziraphale whispered urgently.

"Dunno. Maybe."

* * *

Gabriel had been downwind of the Prince of Hell when the breeze abruptly picked up. It was like dodging a bullet. Had it not been for the pungent smell of his partner in crime, he wouldn't have thought to hide them both. He had swivelled around just as the gust passed him by, grabbed Beelzebub by the shoulders, and pinned them against a wall.

"Wha--!" 

Gabriel silenced them by placing a hand on their mouth. "Shush!"

They stood frozen there for what seemed like an eternity before Gabriel finally dared peek over his shoulder. The angel and demon were nowhere to be seen. "They're gone," he breathed.

"Good," Beelzebub mumbled through Gabriel's hand still on their mouth. Then they punched him in the stomach.

Gabriel was proud of his hard, chiselled body, but it wasn't enough to protect him from the unanticipated blow. He doubled over with his eyes crossed and let out a strangled moan of pain. 

"Touch me again, and I'll have your pretty head on my wall in Hell, flower." The demon prince straightened their coat and walked away. 

"Ungrateful..." he grated and searched for the perfect insult, "bug!" Gabriel steadied himself on the wall and tried to understand the sensation that was slowly ebbing away. Pain. Bodily pain. Now that the pain was gone, he felt his blood boil with rage and then pure humiliation. He had touched the disgusting creature - touched its mouth! He wiped his hand on his coat. "Gross." No one had ever inflicted physical pain on him before. It had hurt. It had been overwhelming for a good minute. It had been... exhilarating. 

* * *

_ The angels had forgotten their pain as soon as the names of the demons were redacted. It was a quick and easy process by simply striking out the names of the traitors with what can only be described as some kind of divine sharpie. Aziraphale, like many others, would experience a period of confusion. Suddenly not being able to recall names, faces or certain events at all did take a toll, but most were just relieved to be feeling happier, except for Aziraphale, who could not shake the sense of loss that crept up on him from time to time. In those times, he found himself in the Records Room. When he wasn't reading, he was kept very busy with mundane work, mostly deliveries from department to department. Then something changed. _

_ The archangels Uriel, Micheal, and Gabriel blocked Aziraphale's path to the vault of the Word. _

_ "Hello, Aziraphale," hailed Uriel who was holding a long package. _

_ Aziraphale stopped and greeted the three higher angels with surprise. "Hello! Um, how can I be of service?" _

_ "We have good tidings for you," said Michael, voiced laced with something close to suspicion. _

_ Gabriel held his polished smile and walked forward, making Aziraphale take a step back. "Indeed, we do." _

_ The lower angel was confused but intrigued. "For me?" _

_ Gabriel nodded and motioned to Uriel, who stepped up and held the package before the lower angel. "The Almighty has appointed you to guard the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden." _

_ Aziraphale's mouth dropped open a few times, and he gingerly took the package. "Really?" The news began to sink in. "Oh," he exclaimed with joy, "that must mean that Earth has been created! How exciting!" _

_ "Not quite," said Michael, "but we're nearly there." They looked down at the package and narrowed their eyes. "Go ahead and open it." _

_ Aziraphale did as he was told and revealed a sword. It seemed familiar to him. "It's beautiful. Thank you." _

_ Gabriel scoffed. "That's not just any sword, Aziraphale, that is the flaming sword. The Protector of Wisdom and God specifically requested that it be reissued to you." _

_ The lower angel's eyes widened. "Well, I-I'm honoured!" _

_ Uriel shook their head. "Any idea why you've been chosen to receive such an honour?" _

_ Aziraphale looked from the sword to the angels. "Um, no?" _

_ The archangels exchanged concerned glances. "Well," said Gabriel, "God always has a plan. Get acquainted with your weapon. You'll assume your post very soon." _

_ "Of course! Thank you!" Aziraphale was left alone in the hall. He looked at the sword that hummed suddenly in his hand in greeting and caught aflame. He flinched but held the sword tight. "Hello to you, too!" He chuckled. Aziraphale was filled with glee. He would be guarding the Garden, where life would be created, and he would finally see the wondrous things he'd been learning about for so long. _

* * *

Crowley and Aziraphale were quick to enter the bookshop and bar the door. Each took to a window to peek outside and drew the curtains after a thorough scan. 

"What did you sense?" Aziraphale whispered in the dark.

Crowley paced and dragged a concerned hand through his hair, then peered out of the window again. He was loath to admit it, but he was scared. Now, just when things had started to get better, just as things had started! He was panicking. Not now. Not now! A pair of hands stopped his pacing. 

Aziraphale held onto the distressed demon. "It's all right," he reassured him, not knowing what else to say.

"How do you know?"

"There was no one, we checked."

Crowley shook his head. Dread began to creep up on him once more. "They're watching us. Waiting." He tore out the angel's grasp and pointed to the door. "We were sitting ducks out there!" He looked around the room. "Aziraphale, what have we been doing?" He half-yelled, eyes wide like a veil had been lifted from them. "We've been waiting for them to strike to-to-to destroy us both." He lunged at the angel, gripped onto his arms, and shook him. "We have to leave!"

"All right, let's go back to yours--"

"No! I mean, leave, leave. We should have been hiding! Not sitting here with a target on backs!" He was yelling in earnest now.

"Calm down, Cr--"

"NO!" The flames, the bookshop, and the lack of Aziraphale's presence in it, or in the world entire, was pushing him over the edge. "I can't! I cannot lose you again, Aziraphale." He was a heaving mess now.

The angel was shocked and moved to his core all at once. He brought Crowley into an embrace and tried to calm him. "What are you saying? You never lost me, Crowley. Everything turned out well. We're here. Together. And we will face whatever comes together as well." 

Aziraphale sounded confident despite his own fears. He'd pondered many times on how they would fare against all of Heaven and Hell and very rarely was the outcome a happy one. He just hung onto the hope that they'd be left alone. That their respective employers would forget and busy themselves with the usual day-to-day work they'd been doing for thousands of years.

"Now," Aziraphale said when he thought Crowley had calmed some, "what did you sense?" 

Crowley tried to think and replay the incident in his mind. "We were talking, and then, the wind picked up, and I thought I felt, smelled someone. A demon."

The angel thought hard and brightened a bit when he realized something. "Sulfur? Yes? I smelled it, too, but, he leaned away to look at Crowley's face," there were couples about and-and-and a pair had been smoking and had matches--"

"No, no," Crowley denied and shook his head.

"Listen, listen," Aziraphale grabbed onto his face and forced him to look, "yes, they were. It could have been that. Hmm? Surely, that's what we sensed."

Crowley shut his eyes hard and racked his brain, searching for the couple that Azirapahle mentioned in his memory. He found them and staggered. He sighed with relief, but had not changed his mind. "Still. We shouldn't be here. It's not a good idea."

"Crowley, listen to me," he caressed the demon's face and smiled sadly, "no matter where we go, they can find us. At least here, we can't delude ourselves into thinking they won't. We have everything in place to give us the upper hand." 

"But, angel," he replied weakly, "we've just... begun..."

"Oh, I know," he brought him close again and tilted his head down to crush his lips to the demon's forehead. "I know. But there's no need to assume the worst. We have plenty of time." He wasn't so sure, but he needed to believe it for Crowley's sake. "Our lot don't work very quickly, now do they?" He chuckled mirthlessly and waited for a break in Crowley's furrowed brow. They smoothed a little. "It'll probably take six thousand more years for them to plot our demise. Not good plotters at all, are they? No imagination." He smiled genuinely this time.

Crowley managed a twitch of a smile. "Yeah." He took a breath and tried to live in the moment. Aziraphale's hands were still on his face, his thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. "I can't leave you tonight," he admitted somberly. 

Aziraphale had trouble believing such a lovely creature could care for him so much. "Then stay."   
  


* * *

_ The demons had already made Hell their new home, but the construction was far from over to house them all. Plus, the Big Boss wanted extra chambers for a diabolical plan he was determined to set in motion for when the Humans populated the Earth. Since he could not steal more angels for his cause, he was going to steal souls instead. _

_ Crawly did not care. _

_ Every demon had a purpose, and Crawly was no different. Given his new form and natural predisposition to acquire knowledge, Lord Beelzebub had chosen him to spy on the damned flock and make sure no one had plans to rebel against their new master. There had been complaints about the state of things. Those complaints were dealt with in what turned out to be a Hellish manner. That's what Crawly did. He slithered through the halls of Hell and tattled. He took no actual joy from his work, but it gave him something to do. He also didn't mind being the reason his comrades were punished, because he wanted them all to pay for what had been taken from him, including himself.  _

_ Sometimes he would indulge in extra emotional flagellation by thinking about Heaven and the work he used to enjoy. Boredom was nothing compared to Hell's suffering. He'd take his old job any day, but knew that would never happen. Then there was one particular anguished face he'd play on repeat in his mind until he had to coil up in himself and mourn silently — Aziraphale's. Crawly knew the angel no longer remembered him. It was for the best. The angel should not have to suffer for what he did. _

_ "Pst, you there, snake!" Called the Duke of Hell. _

_ Crawly slinked his way to Hastur, formerly known as Allocen, and awaited orders silently. _

_ "The Garden you told us about has been made." Hastur exposed his grimy teeth. "We need you to go up there and see what's going on. Report back as soon as possible." _

_ Crawly was left stunned. Eden and the Garden had been created. What he had longed to see for so long was finally coming to pass. A strange warmth he had almost forgotten blossomed just a tiny bit in his black heart.  _

_ Hope. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT AHEAD!
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has left a kudos and a comment.
> 
> I'm still looking for someone to Britpick for me. If there is anyone reading from the UK and is interested, please let me know in the comments or message me on tumblr or IG @mordellestories. Or you can email me at mordellestories@gmail.com.
> 
> I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write this week as I will be traveling for work. I'll be in a horror film shooting in Texas so that should be fun! But that means I probably won't have another update until mid next week or later. This chapter is much longer than the others though, so, there's my compensation lol.
> 
> Thank you so much to my betas: Azeran & Darkphilosophe13 
> 
> Please consider leaving a kudos and comment! I love them so much!

The Human body is a strange and complicated thing. Even without any knowledge of the most simplistic biology, the experience of having a body is enough to leave one marvelling at how intricately confusing they can be. For instance, sensations, or more specifically, the feeling of pain and pleasure. Usually, those two things are considered opposite ends of a spectrum and not many wonder about the strange meeting in the middle the two contrary feelings often intermingle in.

In all of the Archangel's time visiting Earth and posing as a human, Gabriel never once thought to leave his sensory receptors on. The pain he had felt a week hence was purely accidental. He had simply forgotten to keep them subdued because of the abruptness of the moment. Now that he had experienced the overwhelming sensation for the first time, Gabriel wondered why there had been a pleasurable outcome to it.

Whenever he was fitted with his body, to blend in with the humans, and to keep his body in good shape, Gabriel would exercise. Morning jogs were part of the routine, but weight lifting was his favourite idle occupation. He enjoyed the eyes on him, ogling the way he bench pressed the weights above him like theyre were mere feathers. Sometimes he would observe humans doing their workouts and would find them grunting, groaning, and yelling. He never did any of those things. It was beneath him. Because he never felt pain.

He watched a bulky man doing pull-ups, his veins were bulging on his forehead and neck. His face was red, and he had his eyes shut tight like he was experiencing the worst kind of torture imaginable. It intrigued him. Once the man lowered himself and began to dry the sweat off his person with a damp rag, Gabriel approached him.

"Hello, human," he greeted cheerily, "I have a question for you."

The man looked at Gabriel with a confusing quirk of his brow.. "Sure, pal."

Gabriel squinted his eyes in deep thought and took a step forward. "It seemed like you were in a great amount of discomfort doing this exercise. Why do you do it, if that's the case?"

The man grew even more puzzled. He looked the angel up and down and motioned at his optimal physique. "Well, you should know! Got to make the sacrifice to get the body you want. Plus, it's a good kind of pain, am I right?" He chuckled. "The bar is free now." He gave him another approving once over and winked. "Keep up the good work."

The Archangel smiled and watched the sweaty man leave, then he turned to the pull-up bar and scrutinized it before checking his surroundings. He didn't want anyone staring this time around because he was interested in feeling the full effect of the exercise for the very first time. No one was paying him any mind, so, he discreetly placed himself under the bar, and gripped it tight. He decided on taking a breath while he turned the dial of his senses all the way up, and lifted.

* * *

Baseball, a popular American sport (no one really knows why), has four bases. The object of the game is for as many players as possible to reach Home Base (the fourth and final base). This game and its objectives have been used as euphemisms in the dating game as well (because, why not reduce the exploration of love and human connection to a dull sport that only one country in the entire world seems to obsess over?)

I could go into which base represents what, but that is what the internet is for. Anyway, if you keep reading, you'll be able to infer which is which.

They'd been holed up in the bookshop for a week, and both were going mad, though neither of them let on they were, and it wasn't due to any kind of cabin fever. No, the Clueless Husbands had been kissing and cuddling between naps and meals and occasional "bookselling" duties, both thinking they might push their luck too far if they tried to get to what some people would consider second base.

Any time one of their hands slipped below the belt (front or back) they'd quickly snap their hands back up to innocent territory - to both their dismay. Aziraphale couldn't for the life of him understand why the demon, being a demon, didn't just rip his garments off and have at him already. While Crowley couldn't understand why the angel, being an angel, continued to torture him with his purely accidental grazes and not finally grant him mercy by asking him ever-so-politely to move things along.

The demon had accepted his fate, however, and just wished he had a handful of moments of privacy to relieve the one-hundred-sixty-eight-hour throbbing boner in his pants. It just couldn't be healthy at this point, but a mantra that had played on repeat for centuries on end played in his mind to keep him in check.

_Slow down, you dense bastard._

Lips bruised and raw, Crowley came up for air and tried to form some kind of coherent excuse to leave for the thousandth time. Aziraphale's hair was mussed in all directions, and his clothes were all dishevelled and wrinkled. He even sported a dark five-o'-clock shadow that Crowley had never seen on him, not once. For a moment, Crowley wondered if he looked as wrecked as the angel. He twisted and squirmed to keep from brushing his huge stiff on Aziraphale's hip. "Angel," he rasped, "I think the coast is clear." He sounded kind of drunk.

Bleary-eyed with desire, Aziraphale nodded slowly. "Yes, I think we've established that some days ago."

"I should, um, I should see to my plants. Or something. I think." He just wanted to wank and go to sleep, but he didn't make a move away from the pinned, pink cherub on the wall. "Ugh," he exhaled slowly and raggedly.

"Oh, right. The plants. I could come with you."

Crowley bit down on his lip and regretted it the moment he did. He wanted Aziraphale to go with him, but he really needed some bloody relief. "I'd like a hot shower and maybe a quick nap as well." He'd been miracling himself clean because, if not, who knew what ungodly musk he'd be sporting at this rate.

Aziraphale frowned, but nodded anyway. "Will you come back later?" He dipped the tips of his perfectly manicured fingers down the back of Crowley's trousers and nuzzled his neck.

Satan's bollocks. The angel obviously wanted to discorporate him. He could hear his epitaph now.

Here lies the demon, Crowley,

damned and kissed an angel’s lips.

He perished of a sennight's stiffy,

'neath his gaunt, sharp-angled hips.

Crowley groaned. "Yep."

With the speed of a sloth, the demon forced himself away from his temptation and did _not_ saunter on his way out the door because that would have been detrimental in his state. Instead, he stiffly shuffled toward the exit without a look back to Aziraphale or any last words. Concentration was essential for his escape. Pupils as thin as graphite paper, irises swallowing whole the whites of his eyes, cock throbbing painfully against his tight trousers, Crowley sat arse first into the driver's seat of his Bentley and booked it home at a breezy velocity of the speed of sound.

* * *

Working on priming his muscles for so long, Gabriel was able to lift himself easily. There was nothing to it really. Not even mild discomfort. Just the annoying part of having to breathe. He kept going at a slow and methodical pace, and his thoughts turned to the punch in the gut he'd received. It played over and over again in his mind until he could almost hear Beelzebub's threat in his ear.

Then his fingers began to go numb from the lack of circulation, but it wasn't enough to distract him from his musings.

_"Touch me again, and I'll have your pretty head on my wall in Hell, flower."_

That was the second time the Prince of Hell had complimented him underhandedly. They said he had a pretty head. The first time they mentioned his pretty teeth. Gabriel liked compliments. He received them all the time, being one of the most important Archangels in Heaven. It was part of his day-to-day, really.

His triceps and biceps began to burn. It was shocking, but not painful.

Receiving compliments from angels were expected. Receiving one from a demon was just strange. The way the little lord laced those compliments with threats was off-putting. Gabriel thought he would be upset, but both times, he had felt a strange sense of pride and exhilaration instead.

Now his face, neck, and back were beginning to strain. He could feel the blood throbbing in his veins and wondered if they were bulging like the sweaty human he had spoken to. The pressure behind his eyes was building so much, he decided to close them.

Flower. They had called him a delicate flower. That had been insulting. He was no such thing. He was strong and large. Stronger and larger than the little bug, that was certain. The punch came to mind again. The prince was stronger than they appeared. He found that intriguing as well.

As he pondered on that painful sensation yet again, he could feel his core begin to burn. His breath was still controlled but coming in through his nose with a loud hiss and out through his mouth with an even louder _WOOSH_. The salt of his sweat stung one of his eyes. That burning ache was spreading all over his body now, and then he felt something different.

It began to feel as if there was a tight cord attaching his navel to his groin. It was painful, but not exactly displeasing.

* * *

The demon had one goal and one goal in mind only. Fuck his hand raw. It was a miracle he didn't just rub one out in the car. Literally. He miracled himself into his flat and collapsed to his knees, back arched against his front door, and desperately but gingerly tearing at his trouser button and fly with a hiss.

"You didn't say goodbye," reprimanded Aziraphale who was suddenly standing a few feet away from the tortured demonic soul.

Crowley lurched forward, cupping one hand to his barely clothed crotched and fisting his other hand in his mouth to keep from screaming. He was going to cry. "For Go - Sat - fuck' s-SAKE- _AziraPHALE_ ," he screeched into his dented hand.

"Good lord, what are you doing?" There was genuine concern in the angel's voice. "Did you have another bad dream?"

He was at his wit's end. "NOPE!" Crowley whipped his arms wide open, revealing his open trousers and tented pants. "Just a vivid, living, bloody _nightmare!_ " He shrugged dramatically and waited for the horrific realization that would dawn on Aziraphale's face in three-two...

Aziraphale's eyes scanned him top to-- "OH."

Crowley plastered a mirthless smile on his visage and nodded stiffly. With one word, he tried to get the message across as politely as possible. " _Leave-uh._ "

* * *

Blood pumped in Gabriel's head. His snug, sleeveless shirt clung to him even tighter, drenched in sweat.

The stoic face of the disgusting demon filled the back of his eyelids, and he sneered. How dare the little maggot treat him like he was something to scoff at. Like he wasn't the Archangel fucking Gabriel! If only the Great War had transpired as it had been written. He could have shown the bug how this flower could fight. Shown them their strength and skill.

Gabriel was vaguely aware of the various building sensations, but it only fueled his imaginings.

* * *

Aziraphale's owl eyes were still locked on the tented pole, pointing right at him. He opened his mouth before thinking. "I may have a remedy for that."

Crowley buried his hands in his face and whimpered with shaking shoulders. "You want to destroy me completely!" He summoned a sliver of patience. "I don't require a miracle right now, angel. _Understand?_ " He couldn't look at him anymore. Shame had finally started to creep up on him, and still, the snake would not yield.

"No." The angel huskily replied as he approached with renewed determination. "I mean," he knelt before Crowley and placed his trembling hands on the demon's taut thighs, "I can take _care_ of you."

Crowley did the best mental calculation he could under the given circumstances. A kiss was probably five centuries too soon, given Aziraphale's pacing - yet it happened, which meant a handy would probably take about another thousand years, carry the one, and add a what the fuck is going on--

"Okay."

"That's the spirit!" Aziraphale clamoured to his feet, helped Crowley to stand, and steered him in the direction of his sofa. "I was afraid you would turn me down for a moment there." He propped the demon up on the seat, bent down to crush his lips to the demon's, who moaned erotically, and then got on his knees. "It seemed I might have been going too fast for you."

The demon sputtered and looked to the ceiling for some sense. There was none. Nothing made any bloody sense anymore.

* * *

The cord tightened. Gabriel's arms, head, shoulders all felt larger from all of the pressure building. It was… painful. He kept on.

In his mind, he fought the Prince of Hell. Swords clashed. Thunder roared above them. Wings fought to keep them upright, occasionally grazing each other in their struggle.

He was hot. So hot, he wondered if he'd catch fire if kept it up. Up and down. Hissing in and out. Gabriel's teeth were clenched tight, as tight as his legs, where the strange, uncomfortable, yet gratifying tug, began to stretch even more in his core and between his legs.

* * *

Crowley felt gentle fingers on his knees begin to pry his legs open. The angel placed himself between the demon's thighs. Crowley looked down to find a familiar look on Aziraphale's features. A look he only reserved for his favourite desserts. Slowly, the angel raked his nails up Crowley's trousers until he reached the opening in his middle. He wondered when Aziraphale had stripped his upper layers down to an undershirt while the angel gingerly slipped his warm fingers through the elastic of his boxer briefs.

"Ha!" Crowley cried out when he felt a jolt go through his entire body.

Aziraphale paused and gazed up at the demon. "Something wrong?"

"Pft, nah. I mean. You're not gonna... you know..." he tilted his head sideways like a dog having trouble understanding a command, "use your mouth?"

"I had intended to, but if that is too forward--"

" _NOoooo._ " He shook his head, definitively. "Not at all. Just curious." But inside the mantra screamed at him. _SLOW DOWN, YOU DENSE BASTARD._ He couldn't allow this to happen. He should put a stop to it. He was the one who should be on his knees, worshipping the angel. Not the other way around, but it was too late. He had been released from his final confines and been engulfed by a warm, moist mouth. And he watched it all happen for as long as he could (which wasn't long at all) before his snakelike eyes rolled up under his lids and he threw his head back with a one long and loud guttural groan. "Oh, _fuck_..."

So, in Baseball terms, Aziraphale had leapt from first to third base, as if second base never even existed, in a single celestial bound.

* * *

It was getting harder for Gabriel to pull himself up, so he increased his exertion. His breath was now escaping through barred teeth, ragged, and unrestrained. The cord pulled tighter in his inner thighs like his tendons were ready to snap, but it felt too good to stop.

* * *

Crowley had to force his eyes open, his pleasure was building too fast. He looked down at Aziraphale and knew it was a mistake instantly. He couldn't look away, however, and he watched the angel's blond head bob up and down, his tongue expertly swirling around his tip, and Crowley's mind was infiltrated by the troubling thought that Aziraphale may have done this before. He tried to chalk up his expertise to his oral fixation. Hadn't he seen him suck away on a lollie like this once? When the angel took him further in his mouth, Crowley forgot whatever it was he had been thinking about and choked on a moan.

* * *

  
Gabriel began to grunt and growl. Up. Down. Up. Down. Tense. Burn. Tense. Burn. Pull. Throb. Pull. Throb.

Beelzebub's evil glare stared at him in his mind's eye.

"Arg!"

Something was going to break.

* * *

Crowley was lost, his breath was untamable, and the sounds he was making was just embarrassingly undignified and loud. "Azira--ungh-phale!" He knew now why humans cried out to their maker in moments such as these. "Oh, my GO--A-angel! St-stop. I'm gonna--"

But the angel only quickened his pace and moaned into Crowley's cock like he was enjoying the most exquisite cake he'd ever tasted. "Mmmm."

It took every ounce of will not to thrust wildly into Aziraphale's mouth. "AH! Oh-fuck-fuck-fuck--"

* * *

The cord snapped, and the Archangel Gabriel... fell. "UNGH!" He landed on his feet but crumpled to the ground, sending his numb hands to his crotch as a series of powerful spasms overtook him.

* * *

"UNGH!" Crowley howled, his dick spurting into Aziraphale's wicked and blessed mouth. The angel was evil. He had to be, because he sucked and swallowed until the very last drop and until Crowley nearly begged for mercy.

* * *

The convulsions took forever to subside and left Gabriel trembling and heaving on his knees. When he finally opened his eyes, the sweaty human he had spoken to was sitting on a bench in front of him, watching him with approval while methodically chewing on a protein bar.

The Archangel shot to standing and ran for the exit.

* * *

The demon was a panting mess, and his head fell back onto the sofa. He kept one eye open and watched Aziraphale emerge. The angel had the decorum to pull out a handkerchief and dab at his full, pink lips before turning his attention back to Crowley's softened cock and gently tucking it back in his pants. Finally, Aziraphale met his gaze.

The angel's eyes widened slightly at Crowley's rumpled appearance, and then he grinned. "Scrummy." He chuckled when the demon closed his eyes and sniggered.

"Oh, you. You, you, you... Come 'ere," Crowley growled and lazily pulled Aziraphale up to him. Aziraphale had no choice but to straddle the demon. "You're positively _wicked_ , angel," he drawled into his lips, and then kissed him.

Aziraphale scoffed. "I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."

"Please do." Crowley crushed his lips to the angel's once more and coaxed his mouth open with his tongue. The taste of himself still lingered in Aziraphale's mouth and made him proud. As he continued to slowly explore the angels' mouth, Crowley let his hands wander and was pleased when he felt Aziraphale's hardness. "Let me return the favour," he requested with a hint of a plea.

Aziraphale let out a shaky sigh. "You're exhausted. I can wait."

"No, please. I want to." Crowley appealed once more. "We can go to bed. It'll be more comfortable and I can..." he stopped when he noticed Aziraphale blush and grow nervous. Crowley tsked and grabbed onto his angel's face. "We don't have to do anything else. Just let me take care of you like you did me. Hm?"

Aziraphale gave him a nervous smirk, and his eyebrows twitched as they furrowed. "Actually," he cleared his throat, "I wouldn't mind, you know, taking things... further," he finished with uncertainty.

Crowley's mouth dropped open while a singular brow raised slowly. "Oh, really?"

The angel swallowed hard and gave a slight cough. "Only if you want to."

 _Praise the universe entire_ , Crowley thought. Apparently, being an optimist paid off. "What kind of demon would I be to deny such a wile?" He grinned, dragged his hands to Aziraphale's plump arse, and squeezed.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "It's hardly a wile," he muttered.

The demon chuckled and summoned some demonic strength to stand with Aziraphale still locked onto him.

The angel gasped in surprise. "Put me down this instant, Crowley," he outraged as the demon carried him to the bedroom. "Ugh, this must look ridiculous!" He continued to complain, but was secretly thrilled.

"Ask me if I care." Crowley kicked his bedroom door closed behind him and pitched forward into the bed on top of Aziraphale, capturing his lips in a deep kiss.

* * *

Beelzebub had acquired a watch for appearances only, but now they found themselves checking it for the fifth time as they waited impatiently for the Archangel to arrive. Just as they were about to huff with annoyance and return to Hell, they spotted Gabriel power walking in their direction.

He looked like hell, pun intended. The angel's shirt was drenched, his hair was flat and dripping, and he looked very flushed. He appeared the opposite of how he usually presented himself.

Gabriel panted and looked around nervously when he finally reached the demon.

Beelzebub gave him another obvious, amused once over. "Are you wearing trackies?"

"Huh?!" He looked down at his secretly soiled sweatpants and felt disgusted. "Um, yes, blending in," he grumbled. "So, what did I miss?"

"Nothing much. They've moved to Crowley's flat - is your body dying?" Beelzebub pulled at Gabriel's shirt. "Plague or something?"

Gabriel wrenched himself away. "Don't touch me!" He shrieked for all to hear.

The demon prince whipped around and chuckled nervously at the onlookers. "Heh! All right, all right," they glared at the angel when people continued on their way, "What is wrong with you, flower?" They advanced on him.

Gabriel backpedalled. "What do you mean? Nothing. Nothing's wrong." They called him flower again. Their face held anger and worry all at once, and it was stirring something within him.

The prince grew concerned. "Gabriel!"

He froze in the middle of the street when his name escaped those pink lips, and a horn blasted nearby. He turned to look at a bus that was about to most certainly discorporate him. "Oh, shit," he lamented and grimaced, waiting for the blow.

The sound of the horn faded away, and when Gabriel opened his eyes, he found himself cradled in the arms of the Prince of Hell. Their eyes were wide and searching for any injury, then their gazes met, and Beelzebub paled.

It was a hysterical sight. The small, androgynous being with the curious fly hat, carrying a man twice their size on a busy sidewalk. People gawked. The prince remembered themselves, dropped the angel to the floor with a thud, and dusted themselves off.

"OW!" Gabriel cried out in pain when his lower back hit the floor.

Beelzebub cleared their throat. "You're making a scene, flower. We must leave." They stalked to the nearest pub.

Gabriel watched them helplessly from the filthy ground. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

* * *

  
Crowley left a trail of kisses down the angel's neck and began to lift his white undershirt, exposing his soft belly. He pressed kisses there, too, after tugging Aziraphale's fidgeting hands away from covering himself.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley had seen every inch of his body, but it did nothing to quell his trepidation. Gabriel's jibe about his physique came to mind, and he suddenly felt ticklish under Crowley's affections. He giggled nervously when Crowley brought his lips below his belly button. He didn't even realize he'd been wrestling Crowley's hands away.

Crowley swatted away the angel's hands again and finally pulled himself up to meet his embarrassed face. "Angel," he said exasperated, "we going to fuck with our clothes on or...?"

Aziraphale flustered. "Ugh, well - don't use that word for-for-for... you know!" He frowned and gave Crowley a guilty smile. "I suppose I'm a bit embarrassed," he admitted softly. "I've been told I'm a bit... softer than I should be for an angel."

"Mm, yes, the softest," Crowley purred and dug his hand beneath the angel's bottom, squeezing it again with desire. "I like it."

The angel flushed. "You do?"

"Yes," Crowley hissed and began his diligent work again on removing Aziraphale's shirt. 

Aziraphale was finally stripped of his last upper layer, and he fought off the instinct to wrap his arms around himself as Crowley began working on his trousers. His mind was reeling. Everything that had transpired between them in the past week felt natural and strange all at once. Everything he had denied himself to hope was coming to pass.

The trousers were gone after fighting with the multitude of buttons, and it had tested Crowley's patience enough to miracle away the rest because he was not about to try and sensually unclasp sock garters. He left Aziraphale's pants on though. Those he definitely wanted to remove with his own hands. He stood over the angel and took stock of him, bare and vulnerable beneath him, looking so innocent and trusting. The vision before him made Crowley's heart hurt, and doubt surfaced for the briefest of moments. This was it. The moment he'd not only been waiting for, but actively trying to will into fruition since the Garden, and Aziraphale was still blissfully ignorant of it all.

"Something wrong?" Aziraphale asked anxiously.

Crowley shook off his doubt and gave the angel a soft smile. "You're beautiful."

"Oh, stop it!" Aziraphale couldn't prevent a bashful grin from forming. "But thank you," he quipped.

The demon smirked and began to undress, every movement was smooth and purposeful. The serpent shed every bit of his clothes and watched Aziraphale lift himself up on his elbows to drag his eyes over his naked body. Predatory-like, Crowley placed his hands on the angel's hips and clawed at his pants. When Aziraphale's cock sprang out of its confines, Crowley bit down on his lip and nearly hissed. He gave the angel's tip a quick peck, which elicited the most darling whimper from the angel, and then he dragged his pants down slowly over his thighs, knees, calves, ankles, and feet. Crowley was hard again as he continued his slow torture, leaving little sensual kisses up Azirphale's legs, alternating between each, until he reached his balls.

Aziraphale groaned deeply when Crowley brushed his mouth over his testicles and then nearly keened when the demon began to suck on them. "Crowley," he pleaded, "ungh, so good."

The demon grinned then slid his tongue up the angel's prick until he took his head in his mouth. Crowley had no oral fixation or experience to fall back on, but he'd done his research plenty of times and imagined this moment even more times than that. He took his time and savoured every moment as if he were Aziraphale sucking and licking his favourite vanilla ice cream cone. He'd almost forgotten a crucial part to his seduction, he was so lost in the moment. Crowley leaned on Azirphale's thighs to bring a hand up to his balls and began to tug on the sensitive, tightened skin.

Aziraphale bucked and moaned, letting Crowley know he approved.

Aziraphale was no longer in the room. He was floating on blessed clouds of lust and love, and as much as he wanted Crowley to keep going, he wanted - no, needed - Crowley on top of him... inside him. "Crowley," Aziraphale rasped, "I want - I need..."

Crowley released him with a small pop. "Tell me," he crooned.

"I want... please," he panted, "make love to me."

Crowley lifted himself up and crushed his lips down on the angel's. "Oh, absolutely," he drawled huskily. He gave Aziraphale room to move up on the bed. He sat next to him, grabbed his hand, and kissed it while he searched through his nightstand drawer.

Aziraphale watched through half-lidded eyes as Crowley removed a small bottle of lubricant. The snap of the cap sobered him some, and he couldn't help but think who else he'd used the same bottle on. Or how many had shared this particular bed with him.

"What's wrong, angel?" Crowley paused, noticing the slight furrow of Aziraphale's brow.

"Nothing," he lied.

Crowley frowned, then motioned for Aziraphale to sit up. They were under the sheets with a snap of his fingers, and Crowley raked a gentle caress through blond curls. "Tell me."

Aziraphale sighed dejectedly. "Just a bit nervous." It wasn't exactly a lie. "I'm sure I have nothing to be nervous about though. You've probably done this more times than you can count." He chuckled tensely.

Crowley scoffed. The truth came out before he realized it. "No need to count, angel, I've never done this before." He saw Aziraphale blink with shock and thought he better amend his unwitting confession. "But don't worry! I've, you know, read up on it. Seen some," he coughed, "films." He wasn't about to tell him he'd spied on humans doing it since the dawn of their creation. The angel paled. "For research, of course! Not, you know... well, I mean, I suppose it was for a little pleasure as well - but-but mostly research."

"But you said," Aziraphale took a breath to clear his panic, "you said..."

Crowley waited expectantly as Aziraphale's eyes widened and stirred erratically in their sockets.

"...You said you had other people," he finally breathed in a whisper.

"What?" Crowley was confused. "Aziraphale," he sighed deeply and considered being a bit more forthcoming. "I think I see where this is going." He nodded knowingly. "Because I'm a demon, you think I've just been going around behind your back?" Aziraphale's terms when they were relabeling their relationship came to mind. It all made sense now.

"You said you had plenty of other people... to... fraternize with." Was all Aziraphale could say.

The Holy Water debacle, remembered Crowley. As much as he didn't want to say what he was about to, Crowley knew he had to reassure his angel. "I was just saying things. I was angry. Didn't mean a word of it. We've always been somewhat of a pair, haven't we? I had no interest in anyone else. Humans live such short lives anyway. Just didn't think it was worth the time to--"

Aziraphale brought a hand to his mouth and pulled the sheet higher over himself.

Crowley opened his mouth to assure him there was nothing to worry about, that the humans had figured it out on their own, it should be easy enough, but then a thought landed on his brain like a, well, like a lead balloon. The demon rounded on the angel who looked like he was about to bolt.

" _No._ "

It was one word, but it said so many things.

_No: Tell me you're not saying what I think you're saying._

_No: You didn't, did you?_

_No: You've had sex?!_

_No: Please. Please tell me you didn't._

_No: Who? Tell me because I'm going to destroy them with Hellfire._

When the angel met his gaze, Crowley knew the answer. "When?"

Aziraphale swallowed hard. "After." He swallowed again.

"While you learned the gavotte," he pronounced. Crowley was surprised by how even his tone sounded.

Aziraphale grimaced. "You said..."

"I lied."

The angel nodded and pursed his lips. A quiet moment passed between them, then Crowley scoffed lightly, turned his head to the wall in front of the bed and merely stared at it.

"Then, you disappeared. I tried to call on you once, but..." The angel sighed. He hadn't tried too hard, and he knew it. "Crowley?" Aziraphale felt wretched. He could feel the sense of betrayal and disappointment coming off the demon in hot waves.

"So, you did it to spite me," he said drily. "Serves me right," he grumbled.

"No! No, no--" Aziraphale stopped short when Crowley turned his full attention on him again. The demon was trying to play it cool, but Aziraphale could not miss the flared nostrils and the short breaths he was taking through them. Other than that, Crowley's face was as blank as his walls.

Crowley shrugged as a means to let Aziraphale know he was listening. He couldn't trust himself to open his mouth at the moment.

"I mean," Aziraphale said cautiously while placing a trembling hand on Crowley's rigid one, "although there may have been a bit of spite, minuscule amount really," he added quickly. "I feared I'd be a disappointment to you," he admitted.

"What?" Crowley said, incredulous.

Aziraphale got on his knees and faced Crowley head-on. "I mean, that because I thought you had so much more experience than I, that if we ever, well, you know, got to this point," he grimaced again, "I didn't want to disappoint you. So," he blushed with shame, "I did my own... research."

Crowley's eyelids fluttered with disbelief. "Well, shit."

"It was only a few times--"

Crowley scowled then brought a finger to his lips and shook his head. He didn't want to know. "Nuh-uh. Nope."

"Oh, please don't be angry with me," Aziraphale begged.

"Ngh," Crowley waved his hands in front of him, banishing Aziraphale's worry. "I'm not angry with you," he spat bitterly, sounding quite the opposite. "I'm just..." he rolled his eyes and scrunched up his face with disgust, "well, how the fuck am I gonna compare now?"

The angel was stunned at the sudden vulnerability he witnessed in the demon. "Oh, my darling," Aziraphale lunged forward and held Crowley's face in his hands. "I'm sure it won't compare, not in the _slightest_."

"Thanks," Crowley barked.

"I know you'll feel so much better," Aziraphale confessed lovingly.

The demon pouted. " _Shut up_."

"I mean it! Oh, Crowley, I didn't love them--"

"You're an angel, you love everyone--"

Aziraphale ignored him. "--and while the experience was enlightening and enjoyable--"

"Please," Crowley glared.

Aziraphale pressed on. "I can't even fathom how incredible it'll feel with you, my dear, my love."

Crowley gasped, and he could swear his heart stopped dead in his chest. He managed another breath and searched Aziraphale's hopeful features. Crowley tried to manage a word or a thought, but nothing came. Everything was blank even though he knew what Aziraphale had said, what he had meant, and he knew that it merited a response - something along the lines of 'I love you too, Aziraphale.' Crowley opened his mouth, but something else entirely escaped him.

"Demons can't be loved," he murmured sadly.

Aziraphale appeared bemused, and he scoffed lightly. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but," he tightened his hold on Crowley's face and leaned closer, "this one can." He smiled and dried a tear from Crowley's cheek. "This one _is_."

Crowley let out a shaky breath that Aziraphale caught with his mouth in a deep and penetrating kiss, and that was it. Every doubt, every fear that Crowley had regarding finally attaining the angel and his affections all melted away in that very moment because Aziraphale's love flowed through him, and there was no room for anything else.

"Aziraphale," he worshipped with a whisper.

"Yes," the angel replied, placing his hand between them and slowly dipping it low to wrap around Crowley's heated length. His desire grew, and Aziraphale could no longer stand the small distance between them. He shifted a leg over Crowley's and straddled his hips. The angel lowered himself down only for them both to gasp sharply when their cocks rubbed together for the very first time.

Both heaving and seeing stars bursting behind their eyelids, they moved in tandem, dripping with need between them. It didn't take long for either to finish like that, clasped in their hands, desperate for one another.

There were only a few moments of rest before their frenzy started up again. They had gotten a taste of each other and were nowhere near finished relishing in their pleasure.

"How do you want it," Crowley husked into Aziraphale's neck.

The angel had to remember how to speak before anything came out. "I-I would like..."

"Tell me. Tell me what you'd like, angel."

"I want... I want you... inside me," Aziraphale finally panted out. "I've never-never let anyone... before..."

Crowley growled and tightened his arms around Aziraphale before flipping him on to his back. He bore into the angel's lust-filled eyes. "Never?"

"No, never," Aziraphale slurred, drunk on desire.

Crowley almost laughed out loud, he felt so victorious. There was at least one place that he could claim where no one else ever would. "Mine," he snarled before he sucked in Aziraphale's bottom lip and nipped hard enough to elicit a whimper. Crowley had no more patience left, and he prepared them both with a demonic command before settling at Aziraphale's entrance.

The angel was gasping hard with anticipation.

"I'll be gentle, my angel," Crowley soothed as he prodded lightly, his previous possessiveness dissipating while he watched intently for any sign of discomfort. He rocked against Aziraphale slowly and rhythmically, pushing further in ever so slightly.

"Oh, God," Aziraphale let out without realizing.

The demon grinned wickedly. "Nope." The angel managed a weak laugh. Crowley ceased to pull back. "Ready?" Aziraphale closed his eyes hard and nodded, and Crowley drove forward with one long and slow thrust.

"Aah," Aziraphale keened, feeling exquisitely filled by the one he loved more than anything in the world. "Crowley."

It was taking Crowley several miracles not to fall apart while the angel throbbed all around him. He dared not move again until he could find some mental footing. It was challenging, to say the least. His cock burned and pulsed with the heady need of release, but Crowley would not allow it, not until his angel convulsed beneath him first. He denied himself over and over again with every push and pull inside Aziraphale, who was growing more desperate with every onslaught.

Crowley concentrated so hard on prolonging his orgasm that he could barely control anything else, let alone the throaty grunts that poured out of him as he pressed on, deeper and deeper. He didn't even notice it really. How could he? When Aziraphale's wanton cries burrowed in his ears, feeding his lust and desperation and drowning everything else out.

Just when Crowley thought he'd discorporate for sure, he sent a hand between them and seized Aziraphale's cock in a tight fist and jerked. If Aziraphale was wanton before, he was beyond senseless now. The angel bucked and lurched, crying out Crowley's name over and over until he spasmed in Crowley's hand and let out a scream of ecstasy. Crowley followed immediately after, burying his face into the pillow next to Aziraphale's face and howling with the most intense pleasure he'd ever felt in his blessed or damned existence.

They laid there limply in each other's arms as they caught their breath. Aziraphale felt his face wet with sweat and tears, and for the first time ever, he could hardly keep his eyes open. "I was right," he barked hoarsely.

Crowley could only grunt in question.

"Incomparable," Aziraphale could barely pronounce the word.

Crowley hummed with love and pride and managed the strength to lock Aziraphale's lips in one last kiss before Aziraphale's head rolled sideways and he fell asleep. The demon watched his serene, angelic face for a few moments and then murmured into the angel's ear. "I love you, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale's lips twitched into the slightest of smiles as he hummed lightly in response to the strong sense of love that spread from Crowley's heart to his.

And they slept.

* * *

_Eden's garden was the most wondrous creation he'd seen in ages, and it reminded Crawly of happier times. Of times when things were brighter and full of colour, when he used to oversee the construction of galaxies and everything in between. The serpent would have wept tears of joy if he could. Crawly slithered and lurked in the shadows of the glorious flora and met all kinds of living, breathing creatures, great and small, all existing in paradisal harmony. Almost like Heaven. Except less white, and he liked that very much._

_The creatures lived in pairs, as the Word had declared, and Crawly was very interested in seeing the process of how they would populate all on their own. He knew how they would do it, but it was like knowing it from reading an instruction manual, and he longed to see these various beings act of their own free will to continue creating life without God's help. It was such a bizarre thing to think about, almost incomprehensible. Most of the animals had similar mating rituals, and yet every pair was unique._

_Then, Crawly stumbled upon the Humans, quite accidentally, and rooted himself to the ground. His wide serpent eyes were fixed on the naked bodies of the flawless pair. They were bare and beautiful, more perfect than he imagined, and he cursed God internally for her blatant favouritism. He couldn't even be jealous, they were that lovely, but he did feel... lonely. They loved each other. Crawly could see that plain as day, and he watched Adam groom Eve's hair and basked in the light feminine giggles, and watched with longing as they coupled under the bright blue sky. Kisses, caresses, joining of bodies, it was all too much to bear. Them together like that was like trying to stare at the sun, and Crawly could not stand it. The Absence swelled and swallowed any ounce of joy he had experienced at arriving in the Garden. Crawly coiled in on himself with pain and shot off away from God's beloved creatures._

_This is where God had failed his angels, Crawly thought bitterly with revelation. She had created her angels to rely solely on her love and yet she kept herself at bay._

_Cruel, Crawly hissed, cruel and selfish!_

_How could a good God bring them into being without companions? To work for and worship only her and never once showing her face or come to their aid when they began to feel so utterly alone. He realized with a fury that his damnation had not been placed upon him when he Fell, but when he was created. His loneliness had been the fault of the Almighty, and he was being punished for it._

_As Crawly hissed and bit the air with rage, a sudden exclamation made him freeze. There was a loud gag and some muttering of displeasure. Crawly slinked quietly in the direction of the disturbance, and then he was shocked when, not very far away at all, he was met with none other than his beloved sword, Old Friend. The name he had given it was more confirmation that he had only ever wanted another to share himself with. Though the sword was not exactly a living thing, it had been his companion, and he'd be blessed if was going to let another keep it from him._

_It would not have been hard to steal it back. Whoever the new owner was, had left it idly laying on a log._

_How disrespectful, Crawly seethed._

_Crawly decided to stay on the side of caution and waited patiently for the idiot to show themselves, then lie in wait for a better opportunity to rescue Old Friend._

_The idiot emerged stumbling backwards from a thicket, white wings ruffling while bits of twig and leaf fell from them. Crawly was still so angry that he reared back, ready to strike the enemy, nab his sword, and slither off but then... the idiot turned around._

_Upon beholding Aziraphale, Crawly spasmed and then went rigid. It almost felt like he'd been kicked in the face. He retreated into the shadows and watched, unable to tear his eyes off the angel who was raking his nails at his tongue and scowling._

_"Blech!" Aziraphale gagged again. "Well, now," he spat out another small piece of leaf, "if that's food, then I don't like it." He shuddered with disgust. "Don't know how the insects can stomach it, really!"_

_Crawly was still too stunned to comprehend what was happening and just stared stupidly with a tilt of his head._

_Aziraphale picked up Old Friend and walked in Crawly's direction. The demon panicked and had no idea where to go. Any course would have been fine, but he was paralyzed and could do nothing except continue to stare at the angel's bare foot coming to crash down upon his head._

_Crawly hissed loudly at the impact and recoiled while Aziraphale tripped and landed on his bum. Old Friend lit up._

_"Oof!" Aziraphale carefully held the flaming sword away from him while picking himself up. He rubbed at his bottom and looked around frantically for enemies. "Who goes there?!" He cried out with alarm. "I warn you, I am armed! Show thyself!"_

_Crawly held his breath, the vision before him was almost blinding. Aziraphale was glowing with Heavenly justice, his wings spread high and wide, ready for a fight, and holding the Heavenly blade like a true warrior. Crawly could not have been happier to see him._

_"I know you're there, demon! I can sense you!"_

_Crawly immediate slithered backwards and concentrated on concealing his erratic energy from what had transpired. It seemed to work because Aziraphale's concern began to ebb away. The angel stood poised for a battle for some time, but finally, he extinguished the blade. He seemed oddly disappointed, Crawly noted with interest. He wondered if the angel had wanted to fight or was just feeling lonely._

_"Oh, hello," Aziraphale called out sweetly._

_Crawly had been so deep in thought that he hadn't realized the angel had discovered him. He was still hidden under plenty of leaves so Aziraphale could hardly get a good look at him, but he smiled and motioned at him anyway._

_"Was it you I stepped on? So sorry. Come on out. Don't be afraid. I'm a friend!"_

_Crawly's eyes widened with fear and embarrassment._

_"Don't be shy! I'm sure you're a beautiful serpent, no need to hide," Aziraphale crooned lovingly as he advanced._

_Crawly fled in pure panic and didn't stop until the stars lit the sky._

_The next day, Crawly sought the angel out and found him walking around aimlessly. He lied in wait, completely satisfied with just following the angel around. The serpent paused and spied on Aziraphale, who had stopped near a tree. He was watching a squirrel nibbling at some bark._

_The angel considered the small creature for a moment, then looked around suspiciously._

_Crawly thought he'd sensed him again and worked on concealing his presence once more when he saw the angel place his face in the cracks of the tree and smile._

_"Mmm, smells lovely," he murmured. He peered over his shoulder once more, then licked the bark. Immediately he was spitting out little bits of tree._

_Crawly couldn't help but hiss with laughter and cut himself short when Aziraphale spun around in alarm. The demon buried his head in the coils of his body. He could not contain the joy he felt at watching the foolish angel. Food. It had been his favourite topic in his classes, and yet he still did not understand it._

_From then on, the demon went to work and would collect nuts and fruit, and anything edible that he saw Adam and Eve enjoying. He would abandon his offerings in the places he knew Aziraphale liked to visit and was thrilled to no end when the angel finally discovered his little gifts._

There, you beautiful idiot _, Crawly sniggered merrily as he watched Aziraphale beam with delight,_ that's food _._

_Crawly had a lot of time to think since he'd encountered the angel that often came to mind, but it was just then, while the angel chewed on a sunflower seed, that he decided on something that would change the course of his existence. Now that he understood his plight with more clarity than ever, Crawly decided he wanted - no needed - a companion. Aziraphale was his choice, and no other would do. But how to go about befriending an angel of God? Especially when you're a demon? It would take time. He was willing to wait as long as it would take. Hell be blessed, and Heaven be damned, he would have this angel as his own, share everything with him including his very being, like the living creatures did... like the Humans._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello those who are still with me! This chapter is setting up for the third act! What Blake Snyder would have said is the All is Lost and the Dark Night of the Soul. That means there are 2-3 more chapters after this one MAX. 
> 
> The unfortunate news is I'm going camping tomorrow through Wednesday. I HOPE to write while I'm out there but I don't think I'll have any internet to announce my progress on tumblr.
> 
> Thank you everyone who has commented and sent me messages on tumblr. It really fuels the inspiration! 
> 
> I'm looking for fic recs btw! I've run out of them once again. SO many talented writers out there! Also still looking for someone to Brit-pick this story. I won't take offense, I promise. But please be nice lol. I love to learn and be authentic as possible!
> 
> Thank you betas: Darkphilosophe13, Azeran for catching my errors and being honest about how you think the story is going. It really means so much to me!
> 
> Feel free to chat me up on tumblr or IG @mordellestories

_ Make some trouble, they said, and get your sword back. Crawly didn't have to think hard about what kind of mischief he could make. The blasted Tree was at the very centre of it all, with explicit instructions for the Humans not to eat from it. I mean, how obvious could the Almighty be? She was just asking for trouble. Crawly knew he couldn't dawdle long or Hell would begin to suspect something, so he cut his stalking of the angel short, went downstairs and told them he was working on a master plan to get God's new favourite creatures in trouble and get his sword back. They were passably happy with the news.  _

_ "Why don't we just kill the Humans?" Ligur had proposed.  _

_ Crawly cringed internally. He didn't like the idea of killing anyone. "What kind of punishment would that be?" Crawly rebutted. "Better to let her new toysss Fall from grace. Then the Humans will feel pain asss well. Plus, Sssatan wants soulsss. Can't have them if I kill 'em, now can he?" _

_ They agreed. _

_ Crawly's plan had worked all too well. The Humans had sealed their fate, and now he had the opportunity to approach the angel he coveted. He had been so nervous and had prepared for an altercation. He didn't want to fight Aziraphale, and he wouldn't have. He had decided it already, but couldn't be sure that Aziraphale would not attack. Crawly worked very hard to change his form into something more suitable, something closer to what he had resembled back when he met Aziraphale the first time. The demon wanted to approach him on common ground and hoped that if he resembled an angel (as much as he was allowed) that maybe he would not seem threatening. _

_ It surprised him that Aziraphale was hardly phased by his approach, but it threw him in through a loop when the angel confessed to giving away Old Friend, one of the most potent Heavenly forged weapons, to the Humans! Crawly would have to spin this to his advantage because Hell was not going to be pleased about it. He probably should have been upset, but it was this purity, the angel's genuine goodness that appealed to him the most. The angel's confession only deepened his admiration and affection for him. He was beyond smitten already. _

_ When the first raindrops began to pelt down, Crawly had instinctively flinched towards Aziraphale's direction, and may Heaven smite him down again, the angel actually sheltered him. He wanted to graze his fingers through his unkempt feathers. The demons had begun a little grooming ritual that eased their loneliness and Crawly wondered if Aziraphale would be keen on letting him groom his lovely white wings sometime in the future. If the angel was still around for it anyway. _

_ "What will you do now?" Crawly asked Aziraphale.  _

_ "What do you mean?" Aziraphale was still looking outward, watching Adam and Eve disappear further into the next plane. _

_ The demon seemed a bit guilty. "Well, I guess I sort of put you out of a job. Nothing to protect here anymore is there?" This notion worried him to no end. He hoped Aziraphale would not go back to Heaven, and he needed to do his best to stop that from happening. _

_ Aziraphale gave the demon a quick side glance. "Yes, I suppose you have." He sighed. "Well, I shall await new orders and see." _

_ Crawly nodded and chewed on his lip. He waited for the crack of thunder to subside before speaking again. "You could still protect them, right? The Humans."  _

_ The angel gave him a quizzical look.  _

_ "I mean," the demon continued, "I'm supposed to make their lives miserable now. Follow them and tempt them and the ones that come after." _

_ The celestial shook his head disapprovingly. "Of course," he grumbled. _

_ Crawly grimaced at the angel's apparent disapproval of him. "Maybe they'll assign you to thwart me." He shrugged innocently. "Earth Principality," he announced with a wave of his hand, "Aziraphale."  _

_ The angel started. "You know my name?" _

_ Crawly kicked himself internally. "You mentioned it. Gotta admit it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Earth Principality." He repeated with extra pronunciation, hoping to distract the angel from his question. _

_ Aziraphale considered his words and grew hopeful. "It does actually. But," his eyes swirled into a sad blue, "I don't think they'll give me the job." _

_ "Why ever not?" _

_ "Well," he gave Crawly a pointed look, "look at how well I thwarted you here. Plus," he sighed again, "I am one flaming sword short." _

_ The demon considered his words carefully. "You could tell them you want to make things right. Don't you want to?" _

_ Aziraphale turned to the demon and narrowed his eyes. "I do." _

_ "And you don't even have to mention the sword." _

_ The blue in the angel's eyes turned into an unreadable hazel, then light brown. "I won't lie," he replied gravely. _

_ "Of course not!" Crawly could sense the growing displeasure from his companion. "But if they don't ask," he shrugged and swayed, "it's not lying." He waited silently. This was his first-ever tempting of the angel. The first of many, he was sure. The silence stretched until Crawly began to itch with anticipation. _

_ "It wouldn't be, no," Aziraphale finally replied softly.  _

_ Crawly closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, then," he uttered reluctantly, "gotta head back." Crawly gave in to his own temptation and stretched his wings enough to graze Aziraphale's. He thought maybe he'd be singed, touching something so pure. Crawly feared he'd stain him, but the contact did no such thing. The only thing that happened was a delicious shudder that ran down Crawly's spine. Touch. Crawly liked it very much. Especially Aziraphale's.  _

_ The angel's wings retreated immediately to his disappointment. The rain fell on his head and dripped down his face. "Yes, I think it's best I get back to my station as well," said Aziraphale, seeming saddened. _

_ Crawly gave him a curt nod and turned away. _

_ "Erm, Crawly," the angel called out. _

_ Crawly stopped in his tracks and turned to the angel, hope and dread blooming in his chest all at once. "Yeah?" _

_ "I look forward to…" Aziraphale hesitated but then smiled, "thwarting you."  _

_ Crawly smiled back and let his eyes slowly drag over Aziraphale's form, taking in every beautiful feature and committing it to memory again. "Gotta get the job first, angel," he drawled. "And you better act quick," he flashed his teeth with a demon's swagger, "I'll be up to no good very soon." With that, he faded back into his serpent's skin and slithered away. _

_ Aziraphale should have felt unnerved, and maybe he was a bit, but more than that he was left with an overwhelming sensation of… excitement.  _

* * *

  
  


Angels are known to be inherently content. They don't question. They don't search. Each has been given a purpose at creation, and they contentedly do it with no qualms or grievances to speak of. Of course, not all were happy with their jobs, and a rebellion came of it. After the war, things were unsettled, and the Archangels that were left realized that the remaining flock had been shaken to their core. So many had been left listless, with no desire to get back to work. The decisive action to redact the names of the fallen, made by Gabriel himself, seemed to have solved that problem. For some. Although Gabriel had no memory of his own dissatisfaction after the war, something seemed familiar to him.

The archangel felt a strange sense of what he could only describe as an emptiness. He was reluctant to turn off his sensory receptors, but he finally found the strength to do so, only to find that the void grew larger. It was unsettling, to say the least.

The silence of the almost barren, pastel-coloured flat was unbearable all of a sudden. The fact that something was seriously wrong with him screamed in his mind as he paced his bedroom that he never slept in. He couldn't take it and turned on his senses once more. Gabriel felt the empty ache spread in his gut, but at least the silence was no longer deafening.

Gabriel looked around and took in his surroundings. Everything was orderly and sparkling clean. His furniture was minimal, sleek, with smooth curves. Everything unused. He didn't even know what his bathroom looked like.

The idea of showering intruded in his mind. He knew the humans did it after their exercises were completed at the gym, scrubbed away their sweat and stench from their exertion. Before Gabriel knew it, he was power walking to the washroom and there to meet him was a large mirror that took up a whole wall. His reflection startled him. For a moment, he hadn't even recognized himself.

"What's wrong with you?" He breathed while looking into his wide, fear-stricken, violet eyes. His pale complexion was concerning, and he was sweating. He wondered if he'd caught some sort of human illness. He scanned his body and found nothing. The physical pain he was feeling in his midsection was not from a physical ailment but an emotional one. This was something he didn't have a full grasp of and his ignorance only worried him more. He stared at himself once more and felt truly scared. Who could he talk to? The very idea of speaking of this to Michael or Uriel or - God forbid - Sandalphon was horrific. They would not take it well. They might even think he was--

Gabriel abruptly jumped back in alarm. "No." He was genuinely panicking now. "No, no, no." He had a sudden and desperate need to examine his wings, but he couldn't bring himself to check - he needed help. It was a shock to his entire being when a stoic face of a demon came to mind. Gabriel decided a shower was in order.

* * *

  
  


_ When the demon Crawly spotted a mess of white-blond curls bobbing through the crowd, he couldn't help the bloom of hope that spread in his chest. He had not seen Aziraphale since Eden and had begun to worry that he may never lay eyes on the angel again until Armageddon - and wouldn't that be awkward? He'd already imagined countless scenarios in which, in the heat of battle, he'd find himself in Aziraphale's presence, much like the last time, but instead whisk the angel away to safety. Satan knows how that would have turned out, but Crawly need not worry because now the platinum head turned, revealing a pleasantly dazed Aziraphale. Crawly hid in the shadows and bit down on his lip to keep his stupid smile from widening. _

_ The demon was ecstatic, and his human form reacted in the strangest way! Heat rushed to his face and tears threatened to spill. He wanted nothing more than to rush over to the celestial, throw his arms around him, and tell him how happy he was to see him. He refrained, of course. _

Yes,  _ he thought _ , let the angel get a taste of what it's like to be among the humans first and see where he stands.

_ Crawly kept his distance and followed Aziraphale for years, waiting for the right moment to approach him again. _

This angel is an utter disaster, _Crowley thought bitterly._ _Apparently, drowning animals, humans, and children wasn't enough to sway the ever-faithful Principality. Not even the Almighty's Divine Plan of having her human Son murdered for all to see had made him think to ask any questions. Now, here he was, following the angel in Rome and Aziraphale was blissfully parading about trying new restaurants, turning a blind eye to the atrocities being committed around him. Yet Crowley could not pull away and leave him as a lost cause. Had he not promised himself that'd he'd do whatever it took? What other choice did he have? He'd rather have Aziraphale in his life than not, that was for sure. He chose then to make his presence known and asked the barmaid for a drink as loud as he could. Aziraphale took the bait and actually greeted him with a smile this time, which made a resounding crack in Crowley's emotional armour. When Aziraphale offered to tempt him with oysters, Crowley's anger dissipated and hope once again flooded his breast. The angel may not be a complete lost cause, after all, but he proved to be ever more resistant to the demon’s charms._

_ Not dissuaded in the least, Crowley persisted. Going at Aziraphale’s pace, growing ever closer as friends throughout the years. And so, many a moon later... _

_... _

_... _

_ After all the work that Crowley had put into their friendship, after everything he'd done for Aziraphale over millennia, - risking everything in the process - the angel had the gall to deny him one simple request and literally turn his back on him! Didn't he know? Didn't he understand why he asked for the blasted holy water in the first place? Suicide pill, indeed! It was for Aziraphale! Crowley was never going to give up on his companion, and it was going to get him into trouble someday, and the dense angel was still toeing the line of their boundaries. Oh, but he was so close. So close! That's why he needed insurance. That's why Crowley needed more time. _

_ The first time Aziraphale had walked away from him, turned him down, was when Crowley had suggested the Arrangement. It hurt like hell when the angel, in his blinding armour, turned on him and stormed away. His heart had cracked open that day, and the dark pit of loneliness opened just a bit wider in his immortal soul. Yet, the demon did not give up, and because of his persistence and careful grooming centuries later, he was finally rewarded. The angel had actually come to him! Aziraphale recalled and accepted his former offer. _

_ This felt different. This rejection was too much. The void was expanded, sending Crowley to curl up in his bed in pain. His only comfort being that maybe Aziraphale would change his mind again, or at the very least, continue being his friend when he awoke. He screamed into his pillow and cried. He rocked himself to sleep to avoid the agony. _

_ When it was all finally going pear-shaped, and Armageddon was at hand, Crowley really thought this was it. This was the moment that the angel would finally just step off the ledge of his own free will. No excuses. No bribes. No tempting necessary. Crowley bared his heart in the only way he could, literally begged Aziraphlae to fly off with him to the stars and leave the mess behind. But no. In fact, Aziraphale had the nerve to tell him "it's over."  _

_ Over? Over! OVER?! He nearly collapsed right in front of the angel. It took every ounce of miraculous energy to keep himself from breaking apart. Later, he thought, he'll come around again. I just need to wait a little more. Just a little more. That's how it always goes. But no. He rejected him a second time. Anger filled the void. It was anger that he held onto so that he would not bury himself in the ground and sleep for all eternity. Rage and the intention of waiting for the very last moment, if he had must, and forcibly grab Aziraphale by his pale locks and haul him off to Alpha Centauri against his will. Fuck it. With no one else around, the angel was bound to forgive him sooner or later and finally give in to his feelings. He had to love him. He just had to. Aziraphale just wasn't ready to really act on it. _

_ Then he was gone. Aziraphale was gone. Crowley was sure he was destroyed. There was no way that Aziraphale would willingly go to Heaven and fight against Hell. Against him. He had to be dead. He would not believe anything else. So, it was over. And Crowley had to stay awake. He needed to get bloody drunk and wait for his end. Needed to witness every moment of his own demise and hopefully take a few angels and demons down with him in the process. Revenge. The only thing filling the ever-expanding, agonizing black hole within. _

_ Again, once again, Crowley's heart was stitched back together. Aziraphale was alive. Aziraphale forgave him. Aziraphale loved him. _   
  


* * *

  
  


Beelzebub bent towards the gardenias and inhaled.  _ Yes _ , they mused,  _ just like him.  _ They sensed his presence and smiled into the petals.

"Hello, flower," they greeted Gabriel cordially. The prince straightened and turned. "Feeling better?" The look on Gabriel's face was odd and unreadable. He was studying the demon's face intently. "Something the matter?"

Gabriel took in a sharp breath and put on a fake smile that barely reached his eyes. "Hello, bug." He looked at his surroundings with curiosity. "Interesting choice of meeting place. Never imagined a demon such as yourself would enjoy strutting around a nursery. I thought we'd meet at a dank and mouldy pub again."

Beezlebub ignored his curt tone and shrugged. "I thought this place suited you better."

Gabriel's eyes widened briefly before he snapped his gaze to the demon's face. He thought he'd catch contempt in their expression, but there was nothing but honesty. The Prince of Hell had thought about what he, the Archangel Gabriel, would prefer. They'd thought of him. Heat began to climb up his neck.  _ Oh no. Now what? _ He thought in a panic. His heart was hammering in his chest. Gabriel cleared his throat, turned away from the prince and began to walk idly.

"I took a shower," Gabriel blurted out without really thinking about how that may sound.

Beelzebub followed languidly behind him, eyebrows almost jumping beneath their hat. "Erm, congratulations?" They scoffed.

The archangel felt stupid. "On the whole, it was a pleasant experience, but what's important is that an idea came to mind. One that I think you'll approve of."

The demon prince was very intrigued. Not just about the idea either. "I'm listening."

Gabriel paused before a pot of Tacca chantrieri and gingerly thumbed its petals. "I've been thinking about love - the human kind. You were right about letting them destroy one another. Humans do stupid things when they're in love."

Beelzebub watched the angel's delicate fingers caress the flower, known as Devil's Tongue, with great interest. "Indeed," they breathed.

"People do even dumber things when they fall out of love." Gabriel turned toward Beelzebub and smirked. "At its worst, heartbreak can really destroy a human. I wonder what it would do to an angel?"

The prince smiled, sharp teeth exposed. "Or a demon."

* * *

Aziraphale choked on a sob. He wasn't even sure he had a voice anymore. The sounds that escaped him were broken, raw, and unintelligible. If he could remember any coherent words of any language, it would be a miracle, but he didn't bother to think on it. The angel was high on sex, blissed out and limp. His body was like pliable clay in the skilful hands of his sculptor, the wicked demon, who undoubtedly lied about never doing any of this before. He'd have to question Crowley more thoroughly about his so-called research. He was a demon. Probably riddled with lies, Aziraphale would think as jealousy swirled in his belly before abruptly not giving a flying fuck only moments later when Crowley would do some sinfully delicious thing to draw out more primally wanton cries from him. Like now.

Crowley curled his three digits deep inside the angel, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves and Aziraphale suddenly was able to recall one word in the English language quite clearly.  _ "Fuck!" _ He'd been very liberal with his verbal obscenities of late, any care for dignity and propriety having been thoroughly fucked out of him.

The demon smiled around the angel's cock. It was a wonder his mouth could still operate. It'd been close to a month of fucking and sleeping, and the only reason he knew that was because Anethema's panicking voice had bounced off his walls from the voicemail machine saying they were late for their monthly scheduled lunch, and where the Hell were they, and not to leave her worrying. It was a good thing he had Aziraphale bent over his desk in his office at the time. He was able to pick up the phone and pointedly tell her that the Clueless Husbands were quite busy at the moment thanks to her, and to stop calling, please and thank you. Ex-oh-ex-oh.  _ Click.  _ He would later discover a text from the witch containing emoji's of a peach, eggplant, and devil smiley face with the words YOU'RE WELCOME all in capital letters.

Crowley's thoughts only drifted from his unrelenting task of pleasing the angel long enough to think of what position to take him in next and, more importantly, where. He wanted his whole flat covered with Aziraphale. Every room, every closet, every piece of furniture, floor to ceiling (they'd yet to get to the ceiling, he was saving that for when he ran out of ideas). Right now though, Crowley knew precisely what to do with his supple and senseless little cherub.

Crowley released Aziraphale's cock and extracted his fingers, ripping a high-pitched whine from the dangerously close angel. "Turn over," he demanded hoarsely. When Aziraphale only laid there panting and helpless, the demon crawled his way up and claimed the angel's mouth, releasing him just as suddenly. "I said, turn over, love," he whispered sweetly.

The endearment somewhat snapped Aziraphale out of his lustful disorientation. Why Crowley only reserved the word love when he was halfway out of his wits or nearly unconscious was beyond him. He really thought he'd started going mad and wondered if Crowley ever actually said it at all. Aziraphale mostly thought it was wishful thinking. Maybe he heard what he wanted to hear. Every time he thought Crowley confessed his love for him in words, it was just a fleeting whisper in his mind, like trying to catch the tiniest burning ember floating away dizzily in a gale. Aziraphale wanted to hear Crowley say those words aloud with all of his being while completely lucid! It made him ache. As much as he ached for Crowley to fill him no matter how many times he'd done it already.

"Just... take me... now," Aziraphale panted desperately, clawing at the demon's glistening, heated skin.

"Pleassse," Crowley begged "for me. I'll make it so good for you, angel."

Aziraphale could not deny him. With trembling limbs, he turned over and realized for the first time that they were on the floor in the hall. He let Crowley guide him into the new position. He was on all fours now and bracing himself for an overwhelming onslaught, but Crowley continued to adjust him in an almost uncomfortable way with one of his arms pulled back behind him. Had Aziraphale not already been stretched this way till Sunday, he wouldn't have been limber enough for it.

"This all right?" Crowley asked while grazing his fingers through blonde, damp hair.

"I think so--"

"Just this once. I've wanted to try this for so long," Crowley admitted while tugging on Aziraphale's hair gently to lift his head.

Aziraphale's half-lidded eyes widened when his gaze found the curious statue of the wrestling angels. "Oh." His brain was trying its best to connect the neurons associated with any memory of the figure. He'd seen it before, obviously, but had tucked it away on a shelf in his mind labelled For Further Contemplation on a more Agreeable Day that is Certainly  _ not _ Today.

Heavy breathing echoed in the hall for a long moment before Crowley loosened his hold on Aziraphale with slight embarrassment. He couldn't tell Aziraphale how long he'd been pining for him but showing him this might give him a clue. A  _ safe _ clue. "We don't have to--"

"No, no. Please. Yes. Just like that, Crowley."

With a low groan, Crowley pressed forward slowly and sheathed himself inside of Aziraphale completely. His readied walls clenched around Crowley's cock, making the demon's eyes roll up in utter euphoria.  _ "Oh, angel!"  _ He was merciless and whipped his hips into the angel who was loudly crying out his pleasure. Crowley loved those sounds. Every hitch of Aziraphale's breath, every moan, every whimper was the praise he needed more than air itself. He wanted the angel's approval so badly, and this was all Aziraphale was willing to give. His noises. His cries. Sometimes, if Crowley had been particularly good, his own name would spill out of the angel in strangled groans.

The demon wanted more. He wanted to hear Aziraphale avow his love for him between laboured breaths. He wanted to pry out all manner of confessions, like how long he'd loved him. Was it after they thwarted the Great Plan? Surely it was sooner than that, he hoped. He dreaded asking outright for fear of heartbreak because there was no way that Aziraphale had loved him from what he remembered was the beginning of their story.

Then there was that pesky little truth that whenever the angel had fallen in love with him, it was because Crowley had made sure he would, no matter how long it took. Aziraphale could never know, and yet Crowley wanted to prostrate himself before the celestial being and beg his forgiveness, beg for him to love him anyway despite his weakness and selfishness. No, Crowley knew that would not go well. As careful as the tempter was throughout the years to make sure Aziraphale made his own decisions on his own terms, Crowley knew that feeding him tidbits of knowledge and planting dangerous questions was the only reason Aziraphale was in the position he was now. That is to say; Heavenless with a demon ramming into him on a dark hallway floor. This was Crowley's atonement. He had to atone. He had to make sure the angel was happy, satiated, wanting for nothing.

His voice shot and mind amok, Aziraphale came almost silently as his body went rigid. His arm gave out beneath him, sending his cheek to the cold floor and Crowley's cock deeper still. Crowley released Aziraphale's trapped arm and gripped the angel's bruised hips to anchor himself. He bent forward and yelled his orgasm into Aziraphale's back. Before they could topple over, Crowley sent them both to bed with a thought. He made it so Aziraphale would collapse into his arms, and he held the angel tightly to his chest as if he'd vanish just because he was no longer inside him.

As soon as Aziraphale's breath evened out and his muscles relaxed, Crowley bent his head, gently pressed his lips into sweaty blond locks, and murmured. "I love you."

Aziraphale took in a sharp breath and snapped his head up, accidentally hitting Crowley in the chin.

"Ow!" Crowley cried.

"You bastard!" Aziraphale croaked, not sounding like himself at all. "You did it again!"

"Did  _ what _ ?" The demon rubbed at his chin, completely taken aback by the angel's sudden fierceness.

Aziraphale glared down at Crowley and narrowed his eyes. "What did you just say?"

"What?"

"You said something as I fell asleep! What was it?"

Crowley could feel a blush spread on his cheeks and ears. He leaned up and caught the angels lips with his own to hide it.

Aziraphale kissed him back before abruptly tearing himself away. "Tell me," he demanded.

The demon shrugged and smirked. "I said you'll love the next position--"

"No, no, no!" Aziraphale rolled off of Crowley and put as much distance between them as possible while staying on the bed. He tried lifting himself but gave up when his jello-like arms would not cooperate. "I think that's enough now, Crowley, we've been at it for weeks." He shut his eyes and shuddered with pleasure. When he opened his eyes, he found the demon shrunk in on himself with a pained expression.

"I overdid it, didn't I? I shouldn't have - I mean - if you didn't like something I did, you can tell me. I can - I can do better. Really, I can. Just give me a chance--"

"Crowley!" Aziraphale's mouth hung open in disbelief. "If you do any better, you'll discorporate me!"

Crowley blinked, confusion written all over his face. "So, does that mean you like it? Sex, I mean. With me?"

"Good lord," Aziraphale breathed, rattled to the core from the obvious doubt in Crowley's expression. "Of course, I do! Do you really believe I would have let you do what you fancied with me if I didn't?"

Crowley cast his nervous eyes to the space between them. "Then why are you over there?"

Aziraphale shook his head and scoffed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Because I'll continue to let you do what you fancy with me otherwise, and we'll never leave this flat again." Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow. "It'd be nice if you romanced me a bit outside of these walls. Take me to dinner. I honestly can't remember the last time we've eaten, Crowley!" He sounded very dismayed at the thought.

Crowley chuckled. "Anything you want, angel." He patted the empty space next to him and pouted briefly, hoping to coax Aziraphale closer. Maybe have him forget food for just a bit longer.

Aziraphale gave the now smiling demon a challenging look. "You don't have to lie to me, you know. You've obviously been perfecting your fiendish sexual prowess over the years with others -  _ someone _ ." He tried to sound unaffected, but it came out rather snippy instead.

Crowley only beamed more at that. "I'm glad my  _ fiendish sexual prowess _ makes it seem that I have more experience than I actually do, angel, but I swear on my Bentley, the only  _ someone _ is you." He shrugged then propped himself up on his elbow facing Aziraphale. "I just have a knack for putting knowledge into practice, is all. And a very  _ vivid _ imagination. God-given  _ talent _ and all that." He winked.

Aziraphale rolled onto his back and laughed at the ceiling. How he could love Crowley more, he did not know, but his heart swelled with more overwhelming affection anyway. Speaking of love, Aziraphale remembered his recent outrage. "Tell me what you said before I fell asleep." It sounded like a plea. "I'd really like to hear it," he murmured longingly.

_ Shit _ , Crowley thought.

The silence from the demon was off-putting. Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Why won't you just say it outright?" He whispered, doubt filling his chest suddenly.

Crowley mirrored Aziraphale and faced the ceiling, sending his hand out in search for his angel. He sighed with content when Aziraphale took his offered hand and entwined their fingers. "I've trained myself not to for so long." He confessed finally. "I guess the habit is hard to break." He gave the air a weak smile. "Besides, you haven't outright said it either."

"I'd like to," Aziraphale admitted, "but history has taught me that a certain demon does not take kindly to words of fondness from a particular angel."

Crowley whipped his head to the side and spluttered. "What in  _ Heaven _ gave you that idea?!" He outraged.

Aziraphale could feel his face flush. "Oh, please," he continued to tell the air above him, "every time I've ever tried to praise you or tell you how good you are, you either shove me against a wall, snarl at me to shut up, or just barely tolerate it. Telling you plainly how I truly feel is  _ terrifying _ when I think about how poorly you'll react."

The demon untangled himself from the sheet in a flurry and closed the distance between them, cupping Aziraphale's face and turning it toward him. The angel's eyes looked guilty and unsure.

"I'm a damned beast, obviously, angel." He kissed him for good measure. "If I ever reacted poorly, it was because I cherished your words too much and I knew I couldn't gather you up in my arms or reciprocate. I thought this," he motioned between them, "would never happen."

Aziraphale's eyes softened and glistened. "Every time?"

Crowley nodded.

The angel gasped. " _ All _ that time?"

The demon's smile faltered, and his eyes grew panicky. "Erm..." His mind was racing. When was the first time Aziraphale praised him with words?

Crowley's office phone sounded off with a shrill...

_ RING! _

The two of them eyed each other silently before Aziraphale's cupid-bow lips thinned into almost nothing. "No."

_ RING! _

Crowley grimaced. "Could be important."

"Don't you dare," Aziraphale warned.

_ RING! _

"No, no. I won't," Crowley said quickly. "Although we may have missed another lunch with Anathema..."

"Crowley."

"And Newt," Crowley added innocently.

"You will not escape this conversation!"

_ RING! _

The demon pouted. "Poor Theodora, she probably misses her godfather's. You especially."

_ RING! _

For a moment, Aziraphale glanced to the open door, and that was all Crowley needed. "I thought the same thing, angel," he let out while he hurriedly crawled back to get off the bed.

"Absolutely  _ not _ !" Aziraphale exclaimed as he swung his legs around Crowley's head, trapping him between his thighs.

The phone grew quiet. No one left a message.

_ "Aziraphale!" _ The prisoner barked out an incredulous laugh and struggled to set himself free. They tumbled this way and that until Crowley decided it was best to just go with it. Instead of pulling back, he dove forward, burying his face in the angel's well-used privates and kissed him into submission.

Aziraphale bucked from surprise and unintentionally squeezed the demon's head harder. "Oh my... oh..." the fiend was lapping with fervour and working his way down. "Oh,  _ fucking _ hell..." groaned Aziraphale as his eyes closed of their own volition in torturous bliss.

Crowley's second phone started to ring. The lovers were too busy to notice it that time until Newt's voice echoed in from the study's answering machine.

The new father's voice sounded timid but concerned. "Erm, Crowley? Aziraphale? Something's happened."

The lovers froze. Crowley emerged, and Aziraphale sat up.

Newt continued while Anathema's unintelligible voice was heard in the background, she sounded distraught. "We've received correspondence from... above."

The angel and demon eyed each other with shocked and troubled expressions.

At the front door, the mail slot could be heard as it snapped open, and an orange glow flared beyond the open door of the bedroom, the smell of sulfur filled the air at the same time.

The demon and angel shared another worried glance. In a blink, Crowley and Aziraphale were dressed and poised for an attack, holding each other's hands in case they needed to escape.

"We want to know if you're all right. If so, please come to Tadfield as soon as you're able," Newt faltered with his last words, "be-be safe."

"Keep calling them--" Anathema's words were cut off when the phone disconnected.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand. "Do you sense anything? Are they here?" He whispered.

Crowley shook his head and pulled Aziraphale close as they walked out of the room. "Anathema's spell would have warned us," he said with conviction, but his gait was slow, and he peered around corners cautiously anyway.

When they reached the front door, they came upon a black envelope with singed corners. Smoke wafted upwards from the slight burning of its edges.

"Bless it," sighed Crowley, a dark pit suddenly growing in his stomach. Aziraphale bent over to pick it up before Crowley tugged him back to standing. "Don't touch it!"

The angel nodded and pursed his lips. "We should go to the Pulcifer's. Miracle ourselves there. Bring the letter with us."

"If we do that, they'll know where to find us."

"My dear," Aziraphale sighed, "I don't think that matters now. They're obviously expecting us to go to them."

Crowley cursed under his breath as he picked up the letter. He let Aziraphale go only to rip open the envelope and read its contents. "To the demon, Crowley, Hell and Heaven await your answer. Answer? Answer to what?" He turned the letter over again and again, but there was nothing else written. He turned to Aziraphale who seemed calmer than he should. 

Crowley's mobile sounded off again with Anathema's name across the screen. He picked up. "We're on our way."

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my friends Darkphilosophe13 & J.D.
> 
> “The moment that you feel that, just possibly, you’re walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself. That’s the moment you may be starting to get it right.”
> 
> — Neil Gaiman
> 
> Thank you so much again for the kudos, comments, and especially for those of you sharing this story with your mutuals. I can't say this enough, it makes me smile and brightens my day!
> 
> Thank you beta's: Azeran & J.D.
> 
> **** WARNING****   
> The angst in this chapter is... HEAVY. Chapter 9 is done and in the beta stage so I won't be leaving you hanging for long, not to worry.

Approximately one in thirteen humans are afflicted with something called "anxiety." It is classified as a mental disorder, and part of what gives people anxiety is an inclination towards Catastrophizing. Catastrophizing is generally seen as a bad thing. It is regarded as a "cognitive distortion," and although it can be helpful to prepare for a catastrophe, the constant state of preparing for the worst can have a detrimental outcome on the human mind.

And that's just accounting for a short human lifespan of worry. Imagine how it would affect an immortal being who'd been around since before the Earth ever came into creation? Especially a demon who'd seen the worst of the worst, both on the Earth and in Hell - the pit of all pits of misery and despair. Add to the fact that this particular demon had a very vivid imagination, and you get an agitated Crowley staring down at a mysterious letter from Hell, catastrophizing on a very grand and astronomical scale that would probably kill a human from the mere shock alone. 

A tingling sensation spread in his gut, reminding him that the Absence was still there within him, and if the worst were to happen... it would destroy him.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said gently as he watched the statue of the demon glaring down at the black letter that was burning in his hands. 

When Crowley didn't respond, Aziraphale took the moment afforded to him to gather his own nerves. He decided right then and there that he needed to be the strong one. Strong enough for the both of them. After all, the angel was an expert at turning a blind eye and ignoring whatever he so desired, for a time anyway. He was sure that Crowley would do his best to remind him of their impending doom any chance he got nevertheless, so why bother with what could happen when they had more pressing matters to attend to at the moment? Anathema and her family. Adam and the Them. 

By the time Aziraphale was done with his ruminating and shelving away his terror of what was to come on that favourite "marked for much later" spot, Hell's letter had turned to ash and stained Crowley's long, elegant fingers black with soot.

"We're taking the Bentley," Crowley finally groused, decisively, and opened the front door.

Aziraphale frowned. "Even with your driving, it'll take at least an hour to get there." 

The demon grabbed the angel’s hand and nearly yanked him out of his flat. When they were out of the building entirely, Crowley scanned their surroundings and Aziraphlale did the same.

"Anything?" Crowley asked.

"Nothing. But Crowley—"

"Yes, yes. We'll do the miracle, but we're taking the Bentley." Crowley was not going to lose Aziraphale or his car again. He expected for Aziraphale to protest, but instead, the angel squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"All right, dear," he replied softly.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was late afternoon, right in front of A.Z. Fell's bookshop that an archangel, wearing a track suit and hoodie, waited for the Prince of Hell. His face was shrouded under his hood as he observed for any sign of Aziraphale or Crowley. He knew they wouldn't come, not yet anyway. They would most certainly run to their beloved humans and find themselves in quite the conundrum, right in between two choices that were sure to cause some trouble in paradise.

Gabriel sensed Beelzebub's presence before he could see them and shuddered. He still couldn't place why his body reacted the way that it did when in the presence of the creature he was supposed to despise. More and more now, the demon felt familiar, almost like shrugging into his favourite human suit. The more Gabriel tried to dispel that idea, the more it nagged at him.

"Greetings, bug," he acknowledged with a smirk aimed down at them. He sounded more genuine than he had planned.

Beelzebub raised their eyebrows with surprise at the affectionate sounding salutation but quickly suppressed their reaction. "Flower," they greeted back. "Have they come?" They looked around discreetly.

"Nope. I'm assuming they've left?"

Beelzebub nodded. "The black machine that Crowley cherishes so much is gone.

Gabriel smiled. "Just as expected."

"How much time will this take?" The prince asked curiously.

"A few minutes tops." He stayed in place, staring at the bookshop across the street. 

After some moments passed silently between them, Beelzebub peered upwards at their taller compan- enemy with a furrowed brow. "Well? They could appear at any moment, what are you—"

"Beelzebub," Gabriel let out gravely, "have you another name?"

The Prince of Hell blinked twice in shock. They didn't know their mouth had fallen open, and that their eyes were as wide as the two moons of Mars. Their human body began to tingle with panic. How were they supposed to answer that? Why was Gabriel even asking in the first place? He should know better than to pose such a stupid question! He was the one who stole their name and memory in the first place! They wanted to yell and send their boot into his pristine, chiselled face. Instead, the former angel sent a hand to their midsection and tried to stave off the pain the archangel had just inflicted.

Gabriel could hear the demon's breath coming in short hisses from their nose. It was confirmation that they had their human senses on as well, to some degree. The silence elongated, and he finally prompted again.

"Were we acquainted before the war?" He asked flatly, trying to keep his overwhelming emotions at bay. 

More silence ensued, so Gabriel looked down at the demon and found them staring at him. Their expression unreadable, but their eyes, their eyes held a depth that made him gasp.

"Do you really wish to know?" The prince asked. Dreading that he'd say yes, dreading that he'd say no.

Gabriel held their gaze for an eternity of a moment before he sniffed, looked away, and made his way to the bookshop's entrance. "You should stay there until I'm done." He called over his shoulder as he crossed the street.

Beelzebub let out a breath they were unnecessarily holding and swallowed down the bile that had risen in their throat. Damn the day they had been curious about human feelings. Their eyes stung suddenly, accompanied by a tightness in their chest that was almost unbearable. 

Then his last words to them registered in their mind. The demon nearly choked on their own vile, human saliva. They stared at Gabriel across the way with desperate confusion. For some unknown reason, the archangel wanted them a safe distance away while he did what he was about to do. Wanted them, his enemy, safe.

* * *

  
  


Stomping down the dread was harder this time around than last time. When Armageddon was upon them a year ago, he had everything to lose - most importantly, his best friend and love of his life. Then he had lost everything and Aziraphale - or so he thought at the time - and the dread had vanished. There had been nothing left to care about anymore. Now though, Crowley had everything he thought he had lost and more. He had Aziraphale and his love. And he intended to keep it, whatever the cost.

They landed outside of the cottage. The engine was already off, and Aziraphale noted the heaviness in the air between them. A glance at the quaint house showed Newt peering out the window at them. Aziraphale waved a hand, and Newt nodded, waving back before he disappeared.

The angel turned to his demon. "You're going to crush my fingers to bone meal, darling."

Crowley flinched in his seat and released his death grip on Aziraphale's hand. He took the angels fingers quickly, brought them to his mouth, and left small kisses on the nearly blue digits. "Sorry."

Aziraphale smiled kindly and cupped Crowley's face, bringing him closer until their foreheads touched. "Listen here, demon," he was just barely able to sound authoritative, "we will rise above whatever awaits us together like we always have. One foot in front of the other now."

Crowley closed his eyes and sighed. "Together." 

Aziraphale nodded. “Together.”

With a final crushing kiss, they opened the doors of the Bentley, but not before Crowley opened his glove box and pulled out an extra pair of shades. The demon put on his glasses with his chin in the air and sway of his hips as Aziraphale adjusted his waistcoat with a determined tug. 

Anathema was holding a fussy Theodora. The infant seemed to know that her mother was distraught. So small and yet already so intuitive, Anathema thought with a weak smile. "It's okay, my little babe. Your godfathers will know what to do." Her voice did not hold the conviction she hoped to have, and Theodora seemed to notice because she wailed in response.

Speaking of the devil - and angel, they had arrived. Their auras large enough to take up the whole living room. Anathema blinked away the sight as Aziraphale knelt before her and asked to touch her daughter with a look. She nodded, and he placed a calming hand to the crying baby.

"Shush now, little one. You are safe." Aziraphale cooed while Theodora quieted and fell asleep. He then gave Anathema's shoulder a squeeze and a reassuring smile. "What's happened?"

"Where's the letter?" Crowley demanded, no care for how curt he sounded.

Newt approached and went to hand over the letter when Aziraphale stood and rounded on him, snatching the letter out of Newt's hand. "Ah-ah! I'll take that," he eyed Crowley knowingly, "just in case."

"Read it aloud, angel," Crowley prompted.

"Yes, let's see here." He opened the envelope cautiously and unfolded the letter within. "To the former Principality… Aziraphale," he trailed off. Aziraphale hadn't expected to feel so nervous. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It has been decreed that you shall sever your ties with the demon, Crowley—"

Crowley snorted.

"And—" Aziraphale stopped and read the rest quickly and silently, his eyes widening the more he read.

"What?" Crowley asked. When Aziraphale failed to respond, he charged for him. "What?" He grated while he circled him and peered over his shoulder at the note. He read it aloud. "Your Angelic Name has been... redacted from the… Holy Register of Angels… and, and… you have been marked as… Fallen…" he could read no more. "Fuck," he breathed, dragging a trembling hand down his face until it rested on his mouth.

"Language, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered softly. He hadn't even known he'd said anything at all. The angel's eyes were glued to the final repercussion on the page that he continued to reread in shock until he finally needed to hear it with his own ears as well.

"Report to Hell immediately. Refuse, and any human who conspired against God's Great Plan to bring about the end of the World will never be allowed to enter the gates of Heaven and will be executed for treason forthwith, descendants not to be spared. For it is written: "I the Lord your God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and fourth generation..."

A dreadful silence filled the room, so thick one could choke on it as all eyes landed on Anathema's tear ridden face and then down at the infant sleeping peacefully in her lap.

"Would they?" Anathema let out with a sob. "Would angels really hurt my baby?"

Aziraphale wanted to deny it. It was his first instinct, but when his mouth opened, no sound came out. How many times had he borne whiteness to the culling of the human race on God's command? Too many times.

The immortals did not have to say a word for Anathema to know the answer. She wept quietly as Newt sat by her side and held her.

"This came before you arrived," Newt croaked and handed a black envelope to Crowley.

Crowley snatched it out of his hand and read silently while his angel's face took on a stern and determined look, obviously thinking of turning himself in.

_ Crowley, you have two choices. A generous offer, indeed. Bring Aziraphale to us where he will be tried, and you can have your old job back. Or Exile. Escape with your precious angel while you can and renounce the humans and the World. It will all end one day anyway. War cannot be avoided forever. Heaven will always wish the demise of our kind, Crowley. You know this. They were willing to kill off the whole human race in the process. What's a handful of humans to them now? The choice is yours.  _

_ Lord Beelzebub _

Sure enough, by the time Crowley finished reading the letter, Aziraphale was already jumping the gun and making promises to the new parents.

"There's nothing to decide, Anathema," Aziraphale murmured, "and nothing to worry about. Crowley and I would never let any harm come to you and your family." He turned to Crowley and gave him a decisive nod. "Right, Crowley?"

All they could see was the way Crowley's jaw was set, how the tendons and muscle beneath twitched. It could have been mistaken for fierce and undiluted courage as he gave the slightest of nods back. That was only because no one could see his eyes, where pure panic had settled in like a family of rats in the unassuming walls of a sturdy home. 

"But what will happen to you, Aziraphale?" "There has to be another way." Both Newt and Anathema exclaimed.

Crowley watched his angel, he would always be his angel, clasp his hands before him and smile gently at them.

"I'll be fine. If my name has already been redacted and I am…" his voice lost some of its fragile conviction "…F-fallen, then I guess that makes me a demon now." He scoffed nervously and looked at Crowley with a smirk. "And someone once told me 'it's not so bad once you get used to it.'" 

Crowley's jaw popped. He could not trust his voice, so he nodded at him again.

"Right," the former angel sniffed, "give my regards to the-the um, children. I, uh, don't believe it prudent to let them know what's happened. No, no, best not."

"This isn't right!" Cried the witch as she stood up, indignant. "There has to be a way to—"

"Anathema," Aziraphale interrupted when the baby whimpered in her arms, "I'm already damned." He gave the child one final blessing with a trembling hand. "There's no reason why your family should suffer the same fate," he whispered. "And who knows?!" He tried to sound chipper. "Maybe my new duties will bring us close enough to visit again someday! Now," he cleared his throat, turned around, and placed a clammy hand in Crowley's, "we should be off." 

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand as hard as he could. It was a plea to the demon to get him out of the house in a hurry.

"Wait!" Anathema stopped them again. "Do you, do you want, to h-hold her…"

"Next time," Aziraphale croaked and nodded quickly, lips pursed, eyes glistening. He dug his nails into Crowley's flesh.

"Let's go," Crowley grated and yanked Aziraphale through the exit and toward the car before the Pulcifer's could get another word in. He peeled away just as they ran out to the road, faces pinched with grief.

Once they were on the main road, Aziraphale let out a sob and buried his face in his hands. The sound made Crowley want to rain Hellfire on the entire World. He could not comfort his angel. He  _ would _ not comfort him, because there was nothing to worry about where Aziraphale was concerned because…

Aziraphale lifted himself with a loud sniff and wiped the tears from his face. "Ugh, look at me. I'm a mess," he chuckled nervously. "And for what?" He smiled through his tears. "I don't even feel any different, really! And I'll still have you. So, I'll be a demon now, what of it?" He scoffed. "Tempting! Ha! Well, I've already done some of that, haven't I? Piece of pie!" He exclaimed happily and then frowned. "Or cake… both." He waved his hands. "Doesn't matter. Do you think we have time to stop by my shop? I'd like to…" he steadied his resolve again. "I'd like to see it… just in case…"

"You said…" Crowley heard the steering wheel groan in his hands, he was so livid, "together."

Aziraphale turned to him, confusion in his eyes as he blinked. "Well, yes—"

"You just  _ decided,  _ right there, without even asking me. On your  _ own _ .  _ You _ decided!" Crowley ground out through his teeth, elongating his S's as he usually did when under extreme anxiety.

Aziraphale stared at the demon for a moment then dipped his head to look at his own hands. "I'm sorry, Crowley," he replied gravely. "But what other choice do we—"

"There's the thing, Aziraphale!" He lifted one finger and jammed it into his dashboard for emphasis. "Choices. There is  _ always _ a choice." He glared at his angel over his glasses. "Do you-do you even know? Huh? You don't know what it means to be a demon. To-to-to be in Hell? To be Fa—" A blanket of white feathers burst in his face and blocked his view entirely, making him slam on the brakes, tires screeching and rubber burning in the process.

As quickly as they had manifested, they disappeared, leaving them both in stunned silence.

"Sorry!" Aziraphale finally chuckled hysterically. "I just wanted to check. I wasn't thinking."

Crowley stared back at him, glasses askew and two white feathers jammed in fire-red locks.

Aziraphale stifled his crazed giggling when Crowley growled and threw his door open. He followed his distraught demon, who paced by the side of the road.

"Crowley, see? My wings haven't even changed! As I said, I feel very much the same—"

Crowley rounded on him and grabbed him the shoulders. "Because you haven't be thrown in the Pit yet!" He yelled loudly and shook him. "As soon as you set foot in Hell, they'll toss you headfirst into the fire and brimstone, and you know what will happen? HUH!?" He shook him again. "You're wings burning black are the least of your worries, Aziraphale! Your whole being will boil and burn away not only your connection to Heaven, but the source of love Herself! God, Aziraphale. Your beloved,  _ ineffable _ God will be burned from your soul! Hear me, angel," he was now pleading, “it's the worst kind of pain you will ever feel, and you will never be the same again." He finished with a whisper. "And that pain will never, ever, leave you. Not entirely."

Aziraphale's eyes had watered again, not for his fate, but for the pain that Crowley had to endure that he had never known. He raised his hands to Crowley's face and thumbed his wet cheeks. "I never knew. I'm so sorry that you had to endure—"

Crowley ripped himself away with a snarl and turned away from him. "Fool. Still, your concern is for everyone but yourself." 

Aziraphale's heart swelled. "And your only concern is me." Cautiously, he approached his lover and wrapped his arms around his waist. He spoke into the back of the demon's neck. "I may not have God's love, but I'll still have yours," he murmured with affection. "And you will always have mine. And we'll still have each other."

Crowley sighed. "You still don't understand. You have this idea in your head that we can be together. That they'll  _ allow _ it." He pulled the letter from Beelzebub out of his coat for Aziraphale to read. Crowley looked out toward the field ahead and waited. 

"I see." Aziraphale finally let out.

"They'll keep us apart and have us do Hell's bidding. We'll help them end the World we desperately tried to save, and when the time comes… we'll fight a war neither of us wants to fight. We may not even see each other on the battlefield. We won't even know if one of us will be destroyed and no guarantee that we won't be wiped out by the other side." 

The former angel already knew what the demon was going to say, and he gulped down his trepidation.

Crowley finally turned to Aziraphale, taking his sunglasses off in the process. He was going to lay his heart on the line one more time. "The only way for us to know for sure that we'll be together. And you promised me. Together."

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, his heart clenching as he said his name.

The demon stretched out his hand toward his angel. "Come with me, Aziraphale," he rasped hoarsely. His fingers trembled, and he watched Aziraphale stare at his open palm and waited.

Aziraphale's hand twitched in Crowley's direction. He wanted to grab that hand so badly. "If-if we leave, then we're condemning an innocent to Hell. Theodora will have no—"

"DAMN THE LOT OF THEM FOR ALL I CARE!" Crowley bellowed, making Aziraphale flinch back. Crowley's hand was no longer open in invitation, but clenched with fury. 

"You can't mean that, Crowley! You're good—"

"I'M NOT!" Crowley extended his arms outward for Aziraphale to get a good look at him. A real look at the demon he thought he loved and sneered. "Haven't been good since before you can  _ remember _ ! And that was a Helluva long time ago, angel. And if the demons don't destroy you, you won't be either after they're finished with you," he spat. 

"I know you, Crowley. If this is what you truly think of yourself, then I know you better than you do!" Aziraphale half-yelled back. 

Crowley charged for him, and without touching Aziraphale, he hissed in his face. "Thisss isss what you do. Thisss isss what you've alwaysss done! One step forward and two leapsss back away from me! And I should have known better thisss time around!" A thought landed on his head like a canon and it made Crowley reel back. "I… should have known…"

"Crowley?" The shocked and grievous look on the demon's face was more worrisome than his rage had been.

"You'll never choose me." The words had come out flat, but they rang true in his ears and in his heart. 

Aziraphale took a step forward. "What are you saying? Stop looking at me like that. You're scaring me." Crowley seemed void of all emotion. His face was blank. Aziraphale would have preferred vehemence over his vacant expression.

"There will always be something or someone better than me for you to choose—"

"Stop."

"Heaven, the World, the Humans… even  _ Hell _ ."

"Stop this nonsensical," he spluttered before he could find the right word, "nonsense!"

Crowley took a step back and held up a hand to stop the angel from moving closer. "And do you know why that is? I see it clearly now."

"I will have no more of this. Let's get back in the car. I can-can put the kettle on... we'll have some-some tea to calm down and-and—"

"It's my punishment, you see? Because I've been manipulating you all these years, trying to make you love me. Trying to get you to fall from grace."

A sharp ringing filled Aziraphale's right ear as the words tumbled from Crowley's mouth. He had said those words with such truth, that he could not ignore them, and yet couldn't understand them. "What?" He said quietly.

Crowley nodded slowly. This was it. The moment he had always dreaded and yet it all felt so easy now. "I always thought you'd ask, you know? But you never ask. Not unless I ask for you. I always thought you'd grow curious one day and that you'd finally ask me the question I feared the most. That one day, while drinking a bottle of red, over dinner, you'd suddenly ask me if we'd known each other… before."

Aziraphale's eyes narrowed. "Before?" His eyes widened. "Before the rebellion…"

"Six thousand years and you never… ever… asked. And the answer is yes."

A gasp escaped the angel's lips before he could stop it. "You…"

"Betrayed you. Betrayed everyone. And when I saw you in the Garden…" he swallowed hard and shut his eyes, "I vowed to take you from Heaven, for myself. Because I was so alone, Aziraphale." The pain pulsed within. "Because I am selfish. Because I am  _ not _ good." He opened his eyes to find Aziraphale staring at him. The angel's mouth parted slightly, and his eyes unblinking. "Now you know how long I've  _ pined _ for you," he sneered. "How long I've been the literal devil on your shoulder. Because of me, you've lied to God, you've tempted, you've consorted with an agent of Hell, you pointed a weapon at a child and pulled the trigger, and now you're damned. What else could I have expected?" He chuckled mirthlessly before pain took over his features again. "Of course you'd rather be damned than be mine."

The ringing had subsided, and all that was left was the silence in Aziraphale's ears. He didn't even know how long they'd been standing there, staring at one another, because Aziraphale couldn't really see anything. He was lost in his thoughts. Lost in all of their history together and seeing it all at the same time. And although the truth was there, it wasn't all accurate. He knew there were holes in Crowley's argument. That words were missing. Vital information, that if he could only grasp, he'd be able to stop whatever was happening between them that was causing them to spiral down a path they may never return from. 

Crowley watched silently and didn't dare blink. He could see Aziraphale's eyes shifting in thought and could almost see the memories he was trying to pull up to prove Crowley wrong. To call him a liar. The more the angel mused, the more his brow furrowed upward, showing his growing distress.

With his eyes cast to the ground, the angel's lips parted to speak. "I think," Aziraphale's voice came out in a harsh whisper like he'd never had a drink of water in his whole life. "I think I need... to," he gasped and bit down on his quivering lip, "go," he finally squeaked.

Crowley didn't miss the hurt tone or the trembling bottom lip, that not long ago was his to claim, and that was all it took to realize what a grave mistake he had made. "Angel," he whispered, eyes rounding with panic.

Aziraphale whipped his head side to side, looking for an escape. "I need to think," he uttered quickly to more to himself than to Crowley. "I won't be long..."

"Angel," Crowley stepped forward and reached for him.

And he was gone.

Crowley clawed at the air in front of him like he might still be able to grasp his angel while he heaved in alarm. But Aziraphale was gone. "What have I done?" He fisted his hands in hair, pulled hard, and screamed as loud and as long as he could. The demon sent a hand to his Bentley to steady himself. The void within grew two times its normal size, almost sending him to his knees. He hadn't felt this way since the fire. He needed to find him. He needed to drive. Drive like Hell.

A wave of agony coursed through him and he groaned as he staggered inside his car, left hand pressed firmly below his sternum. He'd felt this pain before, but it was growing quicker than he'd ever experienced. Something was terribly wrong, and this time, Crowley could not ignore it. The demon squirmed in his seat and felt another explosion within, making him arch and hold his breath. He exhaled with another yell.

"Calm down... you idiot!" He slammed his fist on the steering wheel in an attempt to suppress whatever was spreading inside. His thoughts were frantic, trying to catch some sliver of hope he could hang on to so he could fix the mess he'd made. "Stupid. Stupid-STUPID DEMON!" He banged on the wheel until the pain in his hand exceeded the pain in heart. He wheezed harshly, thinking about what Aziraphale had said.

"He needs to think." He took in a lungful of air and let it out shakily. "That's fine. It's fine. He said he wouldn't be long."

Yes, there it was, the sliver of hope.

"Which means he's... coming back. Yeah. He'll be back," he consoled himself with that thought. "I can-I can fix it. When he comes back."

He continued talking to himself since it seemed to help to hear those words aloud. "You know what? He's probably at the bookshop." He shrugged. "I'll just drive there. Yeah. I'll just meet him there. Maybe by the time I get there, he'll be ready to talk again. And-and, I can explain. Take it all back." He winced and nearly broke again as the void pulsed in threat. "Gaaah-flowers!" He fixated on that instead. "I can get him flowers. That's what humans do to apologize. I'll do that," he said hopefully. "And chocolates. He'll like that."

The pain eased substantially, and Crowley was able to grip the wheel once more. "M'kay. Let's go."   
  


* * *

  
  


"Did you really redact Aziraphale's name?" Beelzebub asked without looking at Gabriel.

The archangel scoffed. "No. Though it would be a fitting punishment. In order to do it, I need the votes of the other archangels. And anyway, I don't want to." Gabriel continued his vigil of the bookshop even when he felt a glare from below.

"Why not?"

Gabriel sniffed and clicked his tongue. "I never want to forget the shame he brought me. He needs to be punished, and how can I do that if I forget?" He sounded very defensive.

Beelzebub could tell there was something he wasn't telling them. They quirked a brow. "Shame? Do the others know what you're doing down here?"

The archangel pursed his lips and gave the prince a quick side glance.

The demon scoffed. " _ Flower _ , have you been...  _ demoted? _ "

" _ No! _ " He whined, then bristled. "I'm just putting my vacation days to good use, is all." He cleared his throat.

Beelzebub smiled wickedly. "I thought you were crueller than I remembered," they mused with a lilt in their voice. They revelled in the way he flinched and gawked down at them. "I know how these things work. Our positions are very much the same, if you don't know. I'm willing to bet that the others lost faith in your leadership skills and you were  _ forced _ to take some time off."

Gabriel pumped his fists. The little bug couldn't have been more correct. "I'll be back soon. And everything will go back to normal."

"Sure," the demon deadpanned.

"What about you, huh?" He accused. "Bet the same thing happened to you! Why else would you be here getting your hands dirty?"

Beelzebub actually sniggered. "Satan has yet to appear. I've been running Hell ever since. Needed a little vacation myself, and when I got your message--"

"Shush! There was no message. I'm not here. You're not here. This?" He gestured in a circled. "This isn't happening."

"No, of course not," they drawled. "The archangel Gabriel would never waste his time playing mind games with those lower than himself. And he certainly would never consort with the Prince of Hell."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Why are you here then? Vacation! Pft. Yeah, sure."

Beelzebub shrugged, and their face went blank. "I was curious," they murmured cryptically. "Thought it would fun," they said flatly.

They felt Gabriel's hand on their shoulder. The angel squeezed hard, and the demon snapped their head to the point of contact with wide eyes. Before they could protest, Gabriel pulled them back into the shadows and pressed them close. They were about to stomp on his foot and send an elbow to his ribs when they saw Aziraphale walking to his shop.

The two misfits waited, ready to cast their eyes elsewhere and subdue themselves should the angel check his energetic surroundings. But they needn't have worried. Aziraphale was lost in thought, twisting his ring on his pinky, and muttering to himself.

This was exhilarating for the prince. Wondering how Aziraphale would react to what had been done to his shop, feeling Gabriel's heat at their back, and his hands on their shoulders. They didn't have enough time to wonder at the surging emotions within because Aziraphale suddenly turned on his heel and walked away from the bookshop, his gaze steadily on the ground before him.

"Damn it!" Gabriel hissed. "So close! Did you see the look on his face though?" He grinned. "He fell for it!" He shook the prince with glee, basking in the warm feeling of them pressed even closer against his torso. Heat pooled in his loins so fast that he gasped.

"Look!" Beelzebub pointed at something speeding across the way, coming right for them. They backpedalled, sending Gabriel flat up against a wall.

Gabriel accidentally let out a small moan, but it was thankfully covered by the sound of a loud engine rushing past them. A black Bentley screeched to a stop in front of the shop.

"Oh," Gabriel gasped, mouth falling open into a smile. "This is  _ perfect _ ."

* * *

  
  


Crowley shot of the car, a bouquet white and cream coloured flowers with roses at their centre in his hand, and stalked to the entrance. He stopped abruptly and paced, dragging his clammy hands through his hair.

"Okay, okay. Um, I'm so sorry, angel. I didn't mean it. I was angry - no! No, no, no, gotta be better. Okay. I'm so sorry, I'm just so scared for you. For us. Of course, I care about the humans - I mean - Anathema and, and, Theo-our goddaughter. Oh, you mean what I said earlier? About manipulating you into loving me? Well, that was all... nonsense. Like you said. It wasn't manipulation! It was-it was..." the demon floundered and flailed his arms, sending bits of leaves and petals to the ground. "WOOING! That's it! I was trying to woo you!"

Crowley's arms fell to his sides, and he sighed. "Just go in there and tell him you love him and can't live on without him... and beg on your knees for his forgiveness." He nodded slowly. "Yeah."

The demon straightened up as much as he was used to and squared his shoulders. "Angel!" he yelled as he sauntered and reached for the door handle. "I lo--"

His hand wrapped around the handle and red hot pain seared up and through his arm. He was so shocked that he didn't pull away his hand in time to keep it from sizzling and blistering. He choked on a gasp and finally peeled his melted flesh from the door with a hiss. Crowley unknowingly dropped the flowers on the filthy ground as he grasped the wrist of his injured hand. He blinked down and watched in horror as his red skin bubbled. The smoke wafted up into his nostrils, and he nearly gagged on the stench of his charred tissue. He heard whimpering and realized it was coming from him.

His first thought was to call on Aziraphale for help, but when he opened his mouth to scream his name, his confused terror turned to realization.

His angel had consecrated the bookshop. 

"Ah-Azi-ah..."

The rest died in his throat with an agonizing whine. He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe. Aziraphale had chosen. Aziraphale had cast him out. Crowley had fallen from grace again.

He wondered briefly if the passersby could hear his heart shattering to bits. He certainly could. It didn't sound like broken glass as one would expect. No, it sounded like a wail of some poor dying creature. The black hole within swallowed whatever was left of his hope and sent Crowley to his knees. He didn't hear the humans crying out in alarm or asking him if he was okay and if he needed an ambulance. All he could hear was that wail being drowned out by the rush of the void within his soul. He couldn't hear those same humans gasp and scream when a giant snake took over his form and slithered away into the darkness of an alleyway.

* * *

Aziraphale didn't notice the commotion until he was upon the crowd gathered at his shop. They were blocking his way, and he had no time to suffer customers when everything was out of sorts. When everything was so wrong.

"Excuse me." He pushed through the group. "Sorry, I just-" They pushed him back. "This is my shop, I need to get by!" No one was listening. The angel was so frustrated that he didn't care about being found rude. He threw his shoulder into a small break of people and propelled himself through. "Out of my way!"

Aziraphale felt something crunch under his foot, and when he looked down, he was stunned to find a trampled bouquet of flowers, black clothes, and glasses - that looked an awful lot like--

"Crowley?!" He dropped to the ground and placed his hand on the soiled clothes. "What? What..." A coldness took hold of his being. He needed to find Crowley. The angel closed his eyes hard and sent his energy outward, scouring the area for any trace of his demon. He couldn't sense him. He couldn't find him. "No."

"Sir!" 

"Did you see it?" 

"Do you know what happened?" 

Everyone around him was crying out at once and tapping him on the shoulder, trying to get his attention.

Aziraphale sprang to his feet, still clinging to the broken pair of glasses and black jacket. With his free hand, he snatched a human by the collar and hauled him forward. "WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!" He demanded as he shook the human forcefully.

The poor man stuttered, tip-toeing to keep himself steady while the blond man screamed at him. "He-he-he-he-s-s-s-s-SNAKE! He turned into a-a-a- snake!"

Aziraphale felt only a bit of relief as he looked to the sky, sending a small, silent prayer above. He released the man and surveyed the floor again. The flowers caught his eye. "Where did he go?!" He looked around and locked eyes with the door to his shop and felt  _ it _ . He shot his hand to the handle, and a Holy light flowed through it.

"Oh, God."

Someone had consecrated his shop. Crowley had been there. His Bentley was still running on the curb, his clothes on the floor, flowers...

"He's hurt." He made a full circle and searched the crowd for any angels or demons. "Please, someone tell me where he went? Was he taken?"

The people were all talking at once, but a few pointed down an alley. He ran through them and desperately hoped he'd find his beloved. He rounded the corner, panting and yelling.

"CROWLEY! WHERE ARE YOU?!" He kept running, whipping his head in all directions and sending his energy out once more. He sensed nothing. "Crowley! I can't find you! Where are you...?"

The angel tried not to succumb to his worst fears, but for the first time, Aziraphale catastrophized.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'm using the hierarchy of angels a bit loosely. I'm equating the tiers in a kind of corporate way. Here's how I envision it for some clarity.
> 
> God Founder/CEO
> 
> Seraphs are Archangels that sit on the Board of Directors. These would be Gabriel, Uriel, Michael, Sandalphon...
> 
> Cherubs used to attend God, but after the rebellion, God sort of takes a back seat and cuts off from Her creations a bit. She only speaks through Metatron. So Cherubs, instead, are tasked with attending the Archangels.
> 
> Archangels who don't sit on the board are like the Executive team. Cherubs are glorified, Executive Assistants.
> 
> Principalities are Guards of Eden/Earth that are managed by the Executive team/Archangels but appointed by God. That's why Aziraphale can appeal to a Higher Authority.
> 
> Then Angels... workers/labourers.
> 
> That's the extent of it for this universe. I didn't want it to get too complicated, and further titles are not necessary for this story so... I axed them lol.
> 
> Thank you beta: Azeran! (If you haven't looked them up, they have some really cool fics available to read! Check their work out!
> 
> And, again, I'm on tumblr and IG @mordellestories
> 
> Make sure to read the post notes for this chapter!

* * *

-

Eight minutes earlier...

Rebel. Rebellious, according to Google Dictionary, is defined as showing a desire to resist authority, control, or convention. Perfectly good people can be rebellious, and their souls would still be clean. Children are notoriously rebellious, and yet no one would point a finger at them and call them evil.

Rebelliousness is not a sin and therefore is not evil, no matter how demons try to make it seem like it is.

There are bad eggs in every basket, but most demons are not evil per se. They're troublemakers. The original rebels. Disobedient children. They are not heartless - not entirely anyway.

Which is why Beelzebub watched in horror as Crowley collapsed to the ground and made a sound they never thought they'd ever hear again. It was the same sound they had made once upon a time, the very same one every demon had cried out after the Fall — the Forlorn Wail. The sound of it blasted right through their chest and left them breathless. The prince witnessed Crowley's descent into the cold-blooded, lowly creature he believed himself to be. The sight of the serpent was one the demon lord had not seen since the early beginnings of the World.

And now they knew why. Crowley had somehow regained a piece of his former self in the Garden. The Garden that Aziraphale had once safeguarded. The demon had found his way back to himself through the angel from the start of the World. The epiphany soured Beelzebub's stomach and made their heart thump erratically.

They were shaken, both figuratively and literally. Gabriel had wrapped his arms around them and jumped with delight, lifting them off the ground.

"That couldn't have gone better, huh?!" Gabriel exclaimed.

"Put me down," they demanded with a low demonic growl. They were surprised when the archangel placed them down with care.

"Whoops! Got carried away!" He chuckled. "Hey, where are you going?" Gabriel jogged after the demon who was heading away from the growing crowd.

Beelzebub turned to face the archangel, still walking away from him. "We need to leave before Aziraphale returns."

"What? Why?!" He retorted incredulously.

This time, the prince dug their heels in the ground and shook their head, completely bewildered. "What do you think he'll do to us once he finds what he will obviously believe are Crowley's only remains?"

Gabriel scoffed. "I'm not scared of that plump little doughboy."

"After seeing him survive Hellfire?" They remembered how Crowley splashed in the Holy Water and shuddered. "In my experience, a vengeful angel is nothing to scoff at, flower," they warned gravely.

The archangel grinned wickedly, turned on his heel, and began to jog in the direction where Crowley had slithered off to.

The prince ran after him. "Where are you going?!"

"Crowley is weak now!" He called over his shoulder. "If we can destroy him, then that'll make Aziraphale weak as well."

"Gabriel, stop!" Beelzebub grabbed onto the angel's arm and spun him around. "Haven't you had enough?"

Gabriel snarled. "Enough? No! They humiliated us, Beelzebub. I was suspended! Me! Archangel-Fucking-Gabriel!" His eyes went wide, and his body went stiff. "You don't want to punish Crowley, do you? Why? Scared? Or is it something else?" His jaw clenched tightly, and his face went pale.

The Prince of Hell did not think anything of his abrupt change. "Believe me, flower, no demon has yet made that sound twice. What he suffers is punishment enough." Beelzebub's expression became pinched with pain.

Gabriel fumed in place. "You... care... about him."

The prince reeled, completely taken aback. "I'm a demon! I don't care about anyone!" They spat affronted.

The polite smile that never seemed to reach Gabriel's eyes was back. "Then prove it. Help me find the bastard," he took a step forward and towered over the little demon, "and end him."

Beelzebub growled and slammed their shoulder against Gabriel as they marched in Crowley's direction.

* * *

Both Anathema and Newt tried every number they had in search of the angel and demon. They had tried Crowley's mobile number and landline, and they had called the bookshop more times than they could count. They even phoned the Shadwell's and the Ritz.

Anathema redialed Crowley's number. It rang. And rang. "Damn it, you two! Where are you? Don't do anything stupid, please!" She yelled at the endless ringing phone.

"This is Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style." BEEP.

"For the hundredth time, answer the phone! I have new information! I know what-"

"We're sorry, but this mailbox is now full. Please try again later."

"ARGH!" The witch slammed the phone down and stalked into the kitchen. She began to wreak havoc within as she tore her cabinets open and pulled out all kind of occult tools. "Fine. I'll do it the old fashioned way. Newt! I need a map! Or a globe!"

Her husband was quick on his feet and ran into the bedroom. He dove under the bed and fished out the boxes that contained Witchfinder heirlooms that Sgt. Shadwell had bequeathed him. He tossed things over his shoulder until he found what he was looking for.

"Got it!" He sprang to his feet and darted for the kitchen.

"Lay it on the table!" The witch commanded.

A gust of wind blew through the entire cottage, and when the couple steadied themselves and looked up, there was Aziraphale.

"Where?!" The angel cried out and began searching the house.

Anathema and Newt were too stunned to react for a moment. Aziraphale looked like he'd survived hurricane-force winds, a fire, or a massive blizzard, maybe all of them. His once prim and pristine clothes were in tatters, burned in some areas - and was that frost in his hair?

"Aziraphale," the witch sighed with relief, ignoring his current state of disarray. She followed him into the sitting room where he began turning over furniture in a frenzy. "What are you doing? Where have you been? I've called and ca-"

In a blink, the angel was before her, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Tell me he's here!" His pleading voice came out broken. It sounded like grinding glass.

Anathema's heart broke at the sight of his hopeless face. He was pale save for the red rims around his eyes. His cheeks held frozen tears. "You mean Crowley? He's not with you?"

With a cry of grief, Aziraphale let Anathema go, his strength leaving him as he staggered back. "I don't know where else to look," he rasped as fresh tears began to flow. He snivelled and tripped over the leg of the coffee table, sending him to collapse on the sofa. "I've been to every spot I could think of. Places we've been to together, all over the world." He sobbed for a few moments into his hands then looked up again. "I even went to Alpha Centauri." He laughed mirthlessly then cried again. "I can't sense him anywhere." He looked up at the couple and shrugged helplessly. "They've killed him. The bastards killed the love of my life."

The angel's head fell forward again into his hands, his whole body shaking with grief.

"Maybe he's just discorporated?" Newt tried to be helpful. "Maybe he's in Hell?"

Aziraphale nodded. "That's my next destination."

"NO!" Anathema screamed, waking Theodora in the next room. Newt ran to comfort his daughter as the witch sat on the table before Aziraphale and grabbed his frozen hands. "You can't go there."

"I must!"

"No, listen to me!" She let out a frustrated sigh. "Agnes wrote another book."

Aziraphale blinked, not able to process information that wasn't about Crowley. "What?"

Anathema gave him a guilty look. "I burned it - but! But when I saw Theodora's name, I knew she wrote about my future child, so I saved what I could. This whole year I've been trying to make sense of all the pieces." She squeezed his hands. "I don't know why it didn't occur to me sooner, I was just so worried about my family that it went over-"

Aziraphale leapt off the sofa. "Let me see it!" This was about Crowley. Agnes must have foreseen this!

The witch nodded and led the way to the kitchen again. She pulled out a box where she had begun placing index cards of the new prophecies.

"It's all out of order, but I remembered one recently... here!" She ripped the card out and gave it to the angel. "Read that and see if it makes sense to you while I try a locating spell."

Aziraphale's hands were shaking as he read the fragmented prophesy. "...for the Messenger of the Almighty dost play a farce... the first tempter... coiled neath... where four rivers meet... the first flame shall break the floodgate... take heed of the angel's wrath..."

Newt burst into the kitchen once more. "Anything? Oh. What does that mean?"

Aziraphale looked up to find Anathema holding a pendulum over a map. It was hovering up instead of down.

Anathema sighed gravely. "It means he's not on this plane." She looked at the angel. "That's why you can't sense him. But he is obviously who Agnes is referring to. 'The first tempter.' And Gabriel is known as God's Messenger. I think he's behind all of this - just fucking with us!"

"But where do four rivers meet?" Newt asked wisely.

Aziraphale shook his head slowly in deep thought. He looked at the map again where the pendulum hovered over it. He gasped. "The Tigris and the Euphrates," he whispered, eyes going wide. "Six thousand years ago, there were four rivers that met at the Eastern Gate!" The smallest of relieved smiles tugged at his lips. "Eden!"

* * *

Beelzebub was at their wit's end. "He's nowhere to be found! We're lucky Aziraphale did not sense our presence. Let's go!"

"No." Gabriel had dragged Beelzebub with him on Aziraphale's helter-skelter hunt for Crowley, jumping from location to location, barely able to keep up. He was winded. How Aziraphale had the energy to make that many manifestations in such a short time was, if he was honest with himself, alarming.

Gabriel was an Archangel! He should not have fallen behind someone of a lower status. "I don't understand it," he panted as he studied Aziraphale's recent list of miracles in his file. "He left the fucking galaxy and came back without so much as a blink!"

Beelzebub cringed. "I know. Principalities have more power than we thought Gabriel. We should retreat and end this."

Gabriel was still reeling. "He wasn't created as a Principality! He was promoted! Started off as just a nobody angel! Then was bumped to Cherub for no fucking reason and then a Principality!"

The Hell prince rolled their eyes. "Why'd you promote him then?"

"I didn't! She did." He growled.

Beelzebub's jaw dropped. They rushed forward and grabbed fistfuls of Gabriel's jacket and shook him. "You mean to tell me that you've been purposefully attacking a Chosen One! Have you gone mad?!"

Gabriel scoffed. "Those advances are hardly worth anything! You don't gain extra power just by being bumped up! And even if you did, why would a Principality have more power than an Archangel?"

Beelzebub shook their head slowly. "For an angel of Heaven, you seem to dismiss the power of love all too readily, flower." They glared at him before letting him go. "And you are so jealous of Aziraphale that you ignore God's obvious favouritism." They stepped back and gave him a slow once-over, finally landing on his violet eyes that held so much anger; it was disturbing. "Have you been losing your faith?" They asked seriously.

The archangel gawked at the Prince of Hell, his mouth opening and closing without sound. After a long moment, Gabriel's attention was brought back to the list. Aziraphale had just popped off to who knows where from the witch's house.

"Damn. He's done it again," he breathed with frustration. "We'll never catch him like this. We need a better way." He thought hard. "So far he's been going to places where he was previously stationed throughout the years. Minus Alpha-fucking-Centauri and the witch's place."

Beelzebub gasped. "The same places Crowley had reported from too."

"What?"

"Crowley's never really been stationed. He's had free reign of where to accomplish his temptations. He's obviously been following Aziraphale all these years. How far back do Aziraphale's missions go?"

Gabriel flipped through his file. "Since early Mesopotamia. Just jumping out of order."

The prince scoffed, bemused. "I think I know where they'll both end up."

"Tell me," he demanded.

Beelzebub sighed. "Leave them be Gabriel. You've had your fun. Go back to Heaven before it's too late for you to return." They had to leave. If they continued looking at Gabriel, they might never leave his side, for he was undoubtedly headed for his own destruction, or at the very least, his Fall from Grace. They did not want to delve into why they even cared, but they did.

The prince closed their eyes and summoned the fortitude to turn their back on the archangel. They heard Gabriel growl and curse under his breath.

"We're in this together! You're as much to blame for what happens now. Don't think I won't mention it to Aziraphale when I get my hands on him!"

Beelzebub was about to miracle themselves back to Hell when Gabriel's next words stopped them.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?!" Gabriel yelled, bringing attention to himself.

The prince was floored. They turned back to Gabriel, with outraged confusion. "With who?!"

The archangel shook his head and jeered. "Crowley," he pronounced.

They should have felt nothing but fury. Instead, Beelzebub laughed wickedly. "You are mad."

"I saw the look on your face when he ran off," he sneered. "You've only been helping me so you could have Crowley for yourself, huh? Get Aziraphale out of the way!"

Beelzebub was proud of their near expressionless reaction as they heard and saw the madness that had taken over Gabriel. They knew that look. Jealousy. They stepped forward and decided to test their theory.

"Does that bother you, flower?" They crooned with an evil grin.

Gabriel's face twitched rapidly, a vein rose on his forehead, and his face was flooded red. "I'm going to destroy them both," he groused menacingly.

"You'll have to find them first, and I am not going to help you," they replied dryly. I'm not going to help you destroy yourself, they thought silently.

Gabriel looked fit to murder. "Fine." He shrugged and flashed his teeth in threat. "I'm sure I'll stumble onto them soon enough." He snapped his fingers, and he was gone.

Beelzebub seethed, left in place. They had fueled the flame of his envy. "For Hell's sake."

They had to stop him.

Aziraphale was starting to feel the effects of his overextended efforts, but he was able to land safely in Eden with only a slight stumble forward. His wings slowed his fall to his hands and knees. The air was pure here, had always been, and Aziraphale took in lungfuls of it before standing upright. It was a struggle. He revelled in the calmness the vast desert-like plane afforded him. It almost made him forget his woes.

Aziraphale turned this way and that. He went to scream Crowley's name, but the sound got caught in his throat, making him cough and wheeze. His voice was practically gone. He sent out a call with his mind instead.

Crowley! I'm here! Where are you, my love?!

No answer came, so he dipped once more into his dwindling energy and searched for Crowley's signature aura. Just about where the Garden would have been, a storm was raging. A flicker of red shone at its centre.

Aziraphale's eyes snapped open. Relief washed over him. To reserve his energy, he stretched his wings and brought them down with a snap, sending him airborne. He hadn't flown like this in ages, but an angel never forgets how to fly. As he soared in Crowley's direction, anger began to boil in his belly.

Crowley, when I get my hands on you, oh, you are going to quake in my wrath! How dare you frighten me like this? I thought they destroyed you! Foul fiend, you are going to get an earful, believe you me! Had me scared out my wits! I mourned you, you-you-you... IDIOT!

A gust front nearly threw him off course. Aziraphale dove for the ground and landed not so elegantly at all, but he gained his footing and marched with purpose through the tumultuous deluge. He used his mind's eye to locate the ever dimming and darkening red aura until his feet rested just above it. Alarm began to take hold of Aziraphale again when he realized that Crowley was beneath the wet sands.

Then he remembered he must have been injured at the shop, and who knows if he'd battled with any angels or demons along the way.

"Oh, God, please..."

Dropping to his knees, Aziraphale began to dig with his bare hands until his now filthy nails raked against scales. The angel dug his hands deeper around the mass between his palms and pulled at the serpent with all of his might. Grunting and yelling curses, Aziraphale tugged and yanked until Crowley's serpentine head was pulled out of the ground. The angel grabbed the snakes head and peered into his unblinking, glazed over eyes.

"Crowley!" He shook him gently, but the serpent did not so much as twitch. "Oh, Crowley! What's happening?!" He lamented.

He rested Crowley's head on the ground and dug out the rest of his body. The rain continued to pelt down, and Aziraphale shed his tattered coat and covered what he could of Crowley's form.

Once again, Aziraphale came around, lifted Crowley's head gingerly and placed him on his lap. He laid a frozen hand to the top of his demon's head and sent his intention into his mind.

Crowley! It's me! Please wake up! WAKE UP!

With a jolt, the snake awoke, hissing and biting at the air, sending Aziraphale onto his back. The angel looked on in shock as Crowley's serpentine body spasmed and twisted itself into knots. He was clearly in pain. Aziraphale wondered if touching the consecrated ground with his bare skin had really done this much damage. Maybe he had been attacked after all. He did catch sight of a burn mark on his belly that looked serious. He ran to him.

"I'm here, I'm here!" Aziraphale tried to console. He grabbed Crowley by his end, which made the snake snap and hiss at him. "Crowley, it's me," he pleaded. "I'm trying to help you! Please tell me what's wrong so I can help!"

It was no use. The demon continued to writhe and hiss, coiling in on himself.

Aziraphale had no other choice; he miracled the serpent's spine and paralyzed him in place. He approached quickly and brought Crowley onto his lap again. The pain was evident in the voids of his eyes, and Aziraphale's heart broke. "I'm so sorry, love." He placed his hand on the flat of his head again and dove into Crowley's essence with his mind.

Black. It was all black inside him, and any light that dared shine was quickly dragged to his centre where an ever darker void swallowed it whole. Aziraphale could feel himself being pulled into it and struggled to keep himself in place. It looked just like a black hole floating in the darkness of space. Crowley's being was collapsing in on itself. Like a dying star.

Memories were flitting by Aziraphale like small fireflies, and he found most contained happy moments with him in them.

What's happening to you, dear heart?

Aziraphale began to panic. When he snatched one of the memories, he was filled with the most intense pain he'd ever felt and let it go instinctively. At that moment, he understood. He had seen and felt Crowley's source of his suffering: Aziraphale himself.

How could you, Crowley?! Aziraphale cried out. What have you done to yourself? How could you think I'd do something so cruel? Do you think so little of me? I would never cast you out!

More memories spurred by and Aziraphale found the courage to gather them. Instantly, he was affronted with agony.

"I'm an angel. You're a demon!" "We're on opposite sides!"

"I don't even like you!"

"Oh, we're not friends."

"We don't know each other."

"I don't think my side would like that."

"You go too fast for me, Crowley."

Aziraphale couldn't take it anymore. He let the little lights go and watched them disappear into the dark centre. His physical body sobbed and heaved.

I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm so sorry. But you have it all wrong. I feared for your safety. You're not being fair! You've said things that have hurt me too, you know?! I forgave you every time! Please forgive me too.

The darkness only stretched outward. Fear gripped at him.

If you destroy yourself I'll... I'll... never forgive you!

He thought the threat would work, after all, they had worked in the past. No. The darkness only grew. A new tactic was in order.

I'll never forgive myself.

The void stuttered. He continued to speak from his heart.

You seem to think that I've chosen others over you, but that is not true. I have chosen you time and time again. Since the Garden.

The emptiness rebelled and spread in denial of his words.

You think I didn't know that it was you? Watching me. Following me. Leaving me gifts. From the moment I trampled you, I knew what you were.

Again, the darkness faltered.

You think I didn't know what you wanted? I don't know how many times I have to say this, but I'm not an idiot, Crowley. I chose to ignore it all. It's what I'm good at. I turn a blind eye, because if not? I see too clearly. And sometimes what I find... it pains me. I'm not an idiot, but I am a coward.

I chose to ignore you were a demon. I chose to allow you to pursue me. I chose to be your friend. Because I never once felt threatened. Because you seemed familiar. And I did wonder whether you were one of the blank spaces in my memory, you insufferable snake. I never asked because... I didn't want to cause us pain. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to see because I was afraid of the truth. Better to start anew. I'm a coward.

Aziraphale continued his rant and saw that the void gradually began to recede.

I will be a coward no more. I will show you. I will face everything I've ignored and show it all to you!

With a concentrated effort, Aziraphale delved into his own mind and faced that massive, ever-expanding shelf of the things he feared to know, and toppled it over. All at once, all the knowledge, everything he had ignored over millennia came tumbling out into the open.

Before the angel and the demon, questions flooded forth. Questions about God's plan, the loneliness he felt, the goodness of the Lord, the empty spaces where he knew his fellow angels had once filled, Gabriel and the other Archangel's cruelty, the need for human suffering, the necessity of sides, or war, of the end of the world.

Along with all of that were flashes of Crowley. Aziraphale's short-lived musings about how beautiful Crowley was, how his hair flowed in the wind, how his eyes grew dark whenever he thought Aziraphale wasn't watching, how lovely he always looked no matter what he wore or how he'd done his hair. How much he craved to hear Crowley's voice, especially at night, tempting him. The want to pleasure himself after thinking of Crowley for too long. How Crowley loved to indulge and how he, Aziraphale, loved to accept his gifts no matter how small because it was the only way for him to love the demon at the time.

The anxiety over never seeing Crowley again after failing to protect the first Humans.

The truth of why he'd chosen a lean, read-headed human to lay with.

The blasted statue and specific memorabilia in Crowley's flat.

The small, fleeting graze of Crowley's wing. The equally small, brief touch of his fingers when he handed him his books unscathed. And how Aziraphale could not ignore his feelings for the demon any longer from that point on.

The joy at realizing he was loved in return. That Crowley desired him not only in an angelic way but a human way as well.

The desire for a companion since before he even set foot in Eden. The thought that Crowley would be his perfect companion. From the beginning.

Aziraphale sighed, relief washing over him as he unburdened himself. He fixated on the black hole and smiled as it shrunk in on itself.

I love you, Crowley. Always have.

The demon's aura burst in the void's place, and Crowley gasped.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and found Crowley in his human form, staring up at him in awe. The storm had ceased and left the sky so bright it was as if it had never rained in the first place.

"I thought..." Crowley rasped.

"I know what you thought," Aziraphale interrupted. He bent low and kissed his demon, passionately. "Daft demon, I love you. Now say it back. I demand it."

Crowley smiled widely and took Aziraphale's face in his hands. "I love you, Aziraphale. Since before you can remember. I mucked it all up back then, almost did it again this time, but I won't. I won't."

"Better not," Aziraphale warned.

Crowley frowned, brow furrowing in thought. "But, angel, if you didn't consecrate the bookshop, who did?"

"I did."

The angel and demon whipped their heads to where the voice had come from, only to find Gabriel standing at a distance. He held a malicious smile on his face, wore his best angelic armour, held his trusty Holy Lance in his right hand, and his wings pointed to the sky, ready for battle. Gabriel's smile faltered when he took stock of his enemies intimate positions.

"Crowley, could you put some, like, I dunno, some fucking clothes on. I can't fight you like that," he grumbled and averted his gaze a bit. What Aziraphale or Beelzebub saw in the demon was beyond him. He was a scrawny snake. Obviously weak.

Crowley looked down at himself, and his eyebrows shot to his hairline. Aziraphale's coat was barely hiding his goods. "Whoops."

"Ah, yes, not to worry, dear." Aziraphale consoled. "I've kept them safe, though they are a bit dirty."

"Any worse than yours?" Crowley questioned as he took in Aziraphale's favourite garments, soiled and frayed.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a questioning look before surveying himself. He gasped in horror. "Oh, no. Goodness! Look at the state of - I've had this waistcoat since - oh, but look - utter disaster!"

"Are you serious?!" Gabriel shouted. "You know, you're both so rude. Here I am, all dressed up and holding my lance and everything!" He shrugged and pursed his lips. "You know what, I'm just gonna hurl it over there at your stupid boyfriend's head."

Gabriel raised his weapon in perfect form.

"Woah!" Crowley cried out. Aziraphale dressed him with a thought, and they both clamoured to stand. "Whoa-whoa-whoah! Gabriel. Wow, man, it's been... a while."

Gabriel frowned and tilted his head. "I'm not looking to catch up, whoever you were. You're just a filthy little demon. I'm going to destroy you first so both your sweethearts can watch."

Aziraphale stood before Crowley in a protective stance. "You'll have to go through - wait. What did you say? Both?" The angel rounded on his demon and quirked a brow.

Crowley shrugged and shook his head quickly. "Don't look at me. I dunno what he's talkin' 'bout."

"Hmph," Aziraphale grunted and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Another voice rang out from behind them. "He thinks I'm in love you, Crowley."

Crowley shuddered. He should have known this plot had been a joint effort. "Lord Beelzebub," he greeted and turned.

The lovers were now back to back, facing their respective former employers.

"What?!" Crowley barked as the information sunk in. He howled with laughter and held his sides. Breathless, Crowley held up a hand. "Oh, wow." He wheezed and coughed. "Oh, Someone, please... absurd-" he stopped and looked up at the prince. "I mean, unless it's true?" He sniggered.

"OF COURSE NOT!" Beelzebub roared with a demonic rumble in their tone.

Gabriel heard the emphatic denial but something in him had already snapped. The whispering of doubt filled his ears until his mind was swimming in nothing but red. Demons lie all the time, he thought bitterly. If his little bug was telling the truth, then there was only one way to find out.

"Prove it and destroy him, bug!" Gabriel bellowed back.

Beelzebub swallowed hard. They were not afraid to admit to themselves (and themselves only) that hand to hand combat with Crowley was a frightening thought. Not only had he survived the Holy Water and kept his human body intact through Hell Fire, but he was also created to protect. A former Archangel made and trained to fight. Granted, it had been aeons since Crowley engaged in battle and he didn't have his sword, but angels and demons never needed to practice when it came to their God-given talents.

The Prince of Hell looked at the rage on Gabriel's face. He was just barely keeping it together to grant his opponents time to prepare for their inevitable fight. They shook their head in defeat. To deny Gabriel now would only fuel his wrath. Beelzebub cursed under their breath and produced their flail mace, Hell Fire sparking at its points.

"Crowley, my dear," Aziraphale muttered, "do you have a weapon?"

"Lost it a long time ago, angel, but I can think of something." His left hand was still singed and painful as Hell but it didn't matter. With a snap, he produced a tire iron from his Bentley and black steel glove he'd kept as a memento from his Black Knight days. Holding the tire iron in his gloved hand, he sent one end over his shoulder. "You would mind, love?"

Aziraphale glanced at his chosen weapon and understood immediately. He muttered under his breath and blessed the blunt end. "Mind how you handle it, dear."

"Should I summon something for you, angel?"

Aziraphale smiled smugly. "I think I can manage." As easy as plucking at an imaginary apple off a tree, Aziraphale produced none other than Old Friend.

The sword became alight with Holy Fire and Crowley half turned, mouth dropping open. "Angel!" He exclaimed with astonishment and pride. "I thought you gave it away again!"

"Hey!" Gabriel pointed his finger at the sword. "That's Heaven's property!"

Aziraphale scoffed. "You think I'd leave us without protection? Just because my body is soft doesn't mean my mind is."

Crowley laughed openly and maniacally. "Indeed, my clever angel," he purred and sent hand behind him to pinch Aziraphale's arse. "Let's make sure we get out of this unscathed, eh? So many things yet to explore," he murmured suggestively.

Face scarlet, Aziraphale took a defensive stance. "Quite right."

"Are you done?" Gabriel waved an arm impatiently. "Can we get to the destroying you part already?"

"Ya know, you haven't changed a bit, Gabe! Tight, little knickers always in a twist!" Crowley shouted with a smile.

And that was the last straw. Gabriel surged forward, lance over his head. Four pairs of wings, two white and the other two black, rushed towards each other, pointing to the sky.

The lance was already hurling in Aziraphale's direction, and with a small prayer, he deflected the attack. The airborne weapon returned to its owner and then crashed against Old Friend once more.

Crowley had been made for the sword, not a tire iron, but his form swung the weapon with dexterity and precision anyway. He deflected multiple strikes, taking on a defensive stance first, but once he was familiar with the weight of the iron, he changed his footing and began to beat Beelzebub back.

"Oh, yes, that's much better," he snarled with a grin as Beelzebub's eyes widened with surprise.

"We don't have to-" Beelzebub ducked out of the way of Crowley's lunge and quickly held up their mace in defence for another attack. "Fight!"

"Yeah, and Satan's my bloody godfather!"

Aziraphale could never hope to look as graceful as Gabriel while wielding his weapon, but grace was not the objective. Protecting his lover was. The desperate need to defend Crowley was his driving force, and it is what jogged the memory of his thorough training. He was meticulous, stiff, and calculating, barely making a sound, while Gabriel flowed and danced, snarling and grunting with every offence.

Aziraphale could not push into an offensive position. Gabriel had always outranked him, and he knew he could not defeat him in a fair fight. So, cringing at the thought of using base actions, he kicked sand into Gabriel's face as he parried his lance once more.

The Principality backpedalled to regain his footing as Gabriel clawed at his eyes and spluttered.

"You little cheat!" Gabriel growled.

Crowley had already burned Holy scars into Beelzebub's cheek and hand. The prince swayed in place and held up a hand in supplication. "Listen," they panted, "you are the only one who has a chance at stopping Gabriel. Take up your sword."

Crowley spun around and watched as Gabriel's lance sliced through the air. He could see Aziraphale struggling to keep up. "Bless it," Crowley breathed. His ex-boss had a point. Even though he had lost his title, he had once been of the same rank. Maybe he could still beat Gabriel, or at the very least even the scales.

The serpent pointed his tire iron at Beelzebub. "Why do you care?"

Beelzebub spat on the ground. They dared not mention that Aziraphale had more power than they had initially thought. Any moment, God's favourite might find the will to smite Gabriel down. Even if he didn't and actually fell to Gabriel's lance, who knew what the Almighty would do to the murderer of one of her Chosen Ones.

"Why are you wasting time asking stupid questions?" They hissed, but their eyes were full of fear. They dropped their mace at Crowley's feet.

Before Crowley could flap his wings, Beelzebub ran before him with a pleading expression. "Don't destroy him," they whispered hoarsely. "Swear it."

The look on Beelzebub's face mirrored his own. He understood immediately and shook his head. "Hell must've frozen over," he grumbled and took to the skies.

And right on time too, because just as Aziraphale was about to resort to another dirty trick, Gabriel beat him to it by flapping his wings as hard and as fast as he could, sending a gust of sand at Aziraphale's face.

Blinded and choking on sand, Aziraphale reeled back and away. He listened intently for any move on Gabriel's part.

"How do you like it, huh?" Gabriel barked.

The archangel surged forward again, shocked that Aziraphale was able to make contact with his lance, but the force in which he attacked sent the flaming sword to the ground, point first. Gabriel was quick at taking his opportunity and spun in place, fully intending on disembowelling the Principality.

There are moments in time that seem to go a lot slower than it actually does. That is because the mind thinks at an incredibly fast speed. Today's consensus says at about 112.654 - 193.121 kilometres per second (70 -120 miles per second). So, at this moment, Aziraphale's thoughts fired in every which direction, the most important ones being: One, he was fucked, as Crowley would so eloquently put it. Two, Crowley was about to watch him poof into nothingness, and that would certainly put him in a bad place. Three, he wouldn't be able to protect Crowley. Four, he'd wasted so much time not being with Crowley. Five, he loved Crowley so much and he should have done more to show it.

First, there was a flash of orange. Then a high-pitched sound whistled before Gabriel, and when he landed in his final position, the front half of his lance dropped to the ground.

Aziraphale was on his back, desperately clawing at his face in order to see, extremely confused about still being alive and not sliced in half like one of those pretty magician assistants back in his apprenticeship days. And then he saw him.

There was Crowley, the Protector of Wisdom in his grasp, and flaming more brightly than he ever remembered. The flaming sword gave off an ethereal pulse that rippled out into the expanse of Eden. Stunned silence for a moment, then both Gabriel and Aziraphale screamed in agony, gripping at their heads like they were about to explode.

Because the moment that Old Friend came in contact with its original master, somewhere in the deep recesses of Heaven's vast archives, the names that had once been censored, shone once more.

When Aziraphale could open his eyes, someone else entirely flashed in Crowley's place. His wings flitted between black and white. His hair changed from short to long. His eyes blinked from slit yellow to golden rounds. His black clothes flowed in white robes. Aziraphale's memory was returned to him like a tidal wave to shore. In the painful midst of remembering Jophiel, his teacher, and the chance of his friendship lost to him, Aziraphale also remembered with whom the fault of it all lay.

A cold wrath throbbed in his chest and began to spread outward, and his eyes landed on Gabriel.

Crowley watched his opponent intently and was confused to find him seemingly in pain. Gabriel had screamed, dropped the other half of his lance and held his head in hands. It was an odd reaction to cutting his favourite weapon in half like it was butter, but Crowley shrugged it off and prepared himself for retaliation.

"You all right, angel?" He called over his shoulder when he heard Aziraphale cry out as well. He panicked when there was no response. Still pointing his weapon at Gabriel, he stepped back and gave Aziraphale a quick glance. His angel was whole, but his eyes, his eyes had turned into a cold grey, the likes of which Crowley had never seen before. His face held a disturbing, vacant expression. "Angel?"

Crowley watched his lover float off the ground, holding his arms to his sides, palms facing forward. He cracked his neck and shuddered. His ruined clothes transformed into blinding armour, his arms and legs exposed. Then, to Crowley's astonishment, his angel's bare skin began to crack with Holy Light, and from those slits, a multitude of different coloured eyes blinked open.

Crowley blanched. His sweet Aziraphale, his soft cherub, his love, was reverting into his true form. "Angel, stop! You'll discorporate!"

Aziraphale's transformation halted enough to keep his body from dissipating, but he still looked fearsome and... vengeful.

When he spoke, his words were said in layered voices that echoed loudly in the ears and the mind. "I have blinded myself for too long," he announced flatly. "I see you, Messenger."

Gabriel had his eyes glued on Aziraphale and knew precisely what was coming. Judgement. "Aziraphale," he pleaded, holding his hands up in surrender, "I-I get it now. You have to understand, I did what I thought was best for the flock."

Crowley looked from Aziraphale to Gabriel, not understanding what was happening in the least.

"What was best?" Aziraphale questioned, rising further into the air. "Stealing our memories, giving us no choice in the matter, was best?"

"Crowley, stop him!" Beelzebub cried out and rushed toward them.

Crowley had no time to react, Aziraphale raised his right arm high and brought down a crack of lighting at Beelzebub's feet, making them blast backwards.

"Flower!" Beelzebub watched on in fear from the ground.

Crowley's head was about to come clean off from how many times he looked from one immortal to the next. "Flower?! What the Heaven is going on here?"

"Gadreel," Gabriel warned without looking at them, "leave now."

Shocked to the very core, the demons looked at each other and then to their companions.

In a blink, Aziraphale manifested before Gabriel, grabbing him by the throat and levitating enough to keep him from touching the ground. "You started the war. You sent us into battle against our brethren."

Gabriel struggled to speak. "It would have... happened... anyway," he croaked.

"It's true!" Beelzebub confirmed. "Lucifer wanted a war! He wanted-"

"He would not have gained the support from the others if he had struck first," Aziraphale corrected. "You, Archangel Gabriel, you were the one who sent the command. You gave him what he needed for his rebellion."

"Aziraphale!" Crowley called out, truly worried for his angel who was not himself. "I think he gets the point. Just let him go, and I'm sure we can all come to an understanding-"

"He's the reason you Fell," Aziraphale interrupted coldly. "He took you from me. Then he took you from my memories. After I begged him not to. Then he tried to take you from me again. And again."

"I'm sorry," Gabriel choked out.

Crowley swallowed hard. It was too much to deal with all at once. Aziraphale's memory of him had returned. He'd just found out that it was Gabriel who started the war to cast them out. Beelzebub was fucking crying, of all the things!

"Okay, okay," Crowley advanced cautiously. "He apologized. He said he was sorry and it sounds like he means it, angel."

"He most certainly does mean it," Aziraphale confirmed. "I can see it all now," his may eyes blinked at the same time, "but as the humans say, 'too little, too late.'" He squeezed. "It's all his fault."

Gabriel looked to his once most trusted Cherub, his friend, who he had abandoned at their time of need. When they had confided in him that they felt odd, lonely, unfulfilled, he had dismissed them. He had cast them out. He tried to apologize to them now with his eyes because he could no longer speak.

"Crowley!" Beelzebub sobbed.

"All right!" He yelled back and charged forward. "Angel! Stop this!"

Aziraphale paused, his eyes still trained on Gabriel. "Is that a command, my superior?"

The last word hung in the air with such disdain that it made Crowley sick. "I haven't been your superior in a lo-hong time, angel. I just want you to think this through."

"I'm exercising my right to administer Judgement," Aziraphale said calmly. He seemed to grow thoughtful for a brief moment. "Will you stop loving me if I destroy him?"

Crowley made garble of nonsensical noise in outrage. "No!" He stuck Old Friend in the ground and lifted his hands in appeal. "Just think. You don't want to have blood on your hands, Aziraphale, not really."

"Are you saying I'm not capable? I almost murdered a child to save you, as you pointed out recently."

"Oh, no, I see you're incredibly capable." Crowley shuddered and tried again, using the most heartfelt tone he could muster. "I never told you about my nightmares. They weren't just about losing you, Aziraphale."

A few of Aziraphale's eyes glanced his way.

"I see Ligur sometimes," Crowley's voice cracked, "I, uh, see him melting in my study. I couldn't go in there for months."

"It was self-defence," Aziraphale offered.

"Yeah, but that fact doesn't help. I know, angel, that kind of guilt," he sighed, "I don't want to see you in that kind of pain. Once your whole," he motioned at Aziraphale's form, "vengeful angel thing wears off... what's going to be left?"

Aziraphale continued to hesitate, but his face grew pained. "He wanted to destroy you. Everything is his fault!"

"No, it's not." Crowley's hands fell to his sides. "My Fall was my fault. I should have come to you back then. I wanted to. I just," he bit down on his lip and hung his head, "I thought you'd see me differently. I didn't want that. I didn't want to corrupt you with my questions. You were so content. So trusting. So, I took the coward's way out. You say you're a coward, but you're the bravest person I know, angel or no. I'm the one responsible for not being there for you."

The Principality's eyes began to weep silently.

"Look at me, really look at me. What do you see?" Crowley chanced more steps in Aziraphale's direction until he was only an arm's length away.

All of Aziraphale's eyes looked down at his companion and witnessed his love for him, his fears for him, his desire for him. All of him.

The angel hissed and looked back to Gabriel. "If you ever come near us again, I will finish you. And..."

He began to float down to the ground. His eyes, save for the two human ones, began to close, and his voice seemed back to normal. He let go of Gabriel, who crumpled to the ground.

"I'm going to file a report against you," he announced primly. Aziraphale adjusted his collar, armour clanking awkwardly at the effort. With a guilty look, he turned to Crowley. "Hello," he said intelligently.

Crowley chuckled and pulled his angel into an embrace.

"Take us home, um," for a moment, Aziraphale didn't know what to call his lover. He settled for his recent revelation. "... A.J. ... Crowley."

"Figured that out, have you?" He laughed. "As you command, my angel."

Crowley snapped his fingers, and they were gone, leaving a very awkward situation behind.

The Archangel-fucking-Gabriel was humbled for the first time ever. His eyes were open but he wasn't seeing what was before him. He was watching every single one of his failures. Sure, it wasn't just his decision to attack the rebels first, but he had been the driving force to convince the other Seraphs. God was not talking to any of them. He thought he was making Her proud by taking initiative. His solution was to cause more pain.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to find the disruptive Cherub from the conference.

"Yes?" Gabriel almost jeered.

"Hello. Erm, I'm-"

"Aziraphale. What do you want?"

Aziraphale twisted his robes in his hands. "Please, Archangel Gabriel, there has to be another way. I don't want to forget Jophiel… or-or the others. I don't even think he wanted to fight! I still love him - and-and all the others of course! Because we are beings of love! And-and we sh-should forgive. Maybe we can try to understand them. Come to some kind of compromise?"

It was taking everything in him not to roll his eyes. Who did this little angel think he was? He smiled, placed a strong hand on his shoulder, and gave him an aggressive shake. "You have good intentions, but the Archangels know what's best. It's been decided. Don't worry, you'll feel better soon."

"What if I don't want to?" Aziraphale whispered with fear. "Please, can't you just... spare me?" His eyes shined a mournful blue. "No one else seems to want to remember, it shouldn't be too much of a bother… I think?"

At this rate, he'd never get rid of the little runt. He sighed deeply and nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

Aziraphale beamed. "Oh, really? Thank you! Thank you!"

Beelzebub stood and dusted off the sand from their clothes. They walked to Gabriel, who was still on the floor, staring out at the vast plains in deep thought. They stuck out their hand stiffly and waited.

Gabriel glanced at the offered hand and looked up. "I'm... I'm..."

"An idiot?" The demon offered.

Gabriel sighed. "Yep."

"I've known that for quite some time, flower." They smirked at him.

The hand still lingered.

With an amused scoff, Gabriel decisively took it.

* * *

**-**

**AN: There will be a fluffy epilogue. Stay tuned.**

**Also, I'm toying with the idea of another GO fic. An AU where the world actually ended. It will be darker, with Demon Aziraphale. Probably a lot of blood. I don't know, the plot bunny won't leave me alone, so it might just happen soon enough. If you're interested, subscribe, and let me know what you think in the comments! I have an idea for a oneshot too… the Husbands just won't let me be!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: First, I need to thank my beta's that have helped me throughout this story! 
> 
> Some of you were able to help with one chapter, some were able to make this story bleed for the whole thing lol, but I appreciate EVERYONE who helped me out. 
> 
> Here are the "beginning credits" lol: Azeran, Darkphilosophe13, J.D., Stealbeatingheart, and my partner Tim (who I never mentioned before but always reads every single chapter of every story I write and gives me input.)
> 
> I am so grateful to the readers as well! All the kudos, comments, and messages really helped me stick with this one with barely a hiccup! I hope you stick with me in my other fics, and someday when I publish my own original work.
> 
> Here is the link to my dark au fic called [Bless the Fallen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754353/chapters/49314962)
> 
> THANK YOU!

* * *

If Heaven and Hell were in an uproar after Armageddon was cancelled, one could imagine the cosmic hysteria after every angel upstairs got their memories back. It hardly mattered though, because Aziraphale and Crowley were blissfully ignorant of it all as they tried to get back to some semblance of normal on Earth.

The first few days had been a bit awkward. Crowley wanted nothing more than to continue their sexcapade, but Aziraphale needed time to adjust. A reasonable request and Crowley was relieved to find out that his angel didn't need that time to be alone. In fact, Aziraphale seemed to follow him just about everywhere, trying not to stare so blatantly when he thought Crowley wasn't looking. Normally, the demon would not mind the extra attention from his angel, but it was getting weird.

Crowley was making them yet another pot of coffee, mostly to keep busy while Aziraphale hovered.

"Angel, for Someone's sake, if you have something to say just say it," he said with more exasperation than he'd meant.

Aziraphale blushed and quickly cast his eyes elsewhere. "Sorry."

Crowley flinched as he watched his angel desperately try to figure out what to do next. "All right, that's it."

He turned off the stovetop and chased Aziraphale out of the kitchen and into his sitting area. Crowley sat him on the sofa, taking his seat beside him. He held the angel's hands in his and sighed.

"Is it really that weird? Me, being, you know, who I was, am?" Crowley found that he actually felt nervous broaching the subject. "I mean," he bit his lip and shrugged, "I'm still me."

Aziraphale couldn't help but blush again. "It's..." he nodded and pursed his lips, "just a teensy bit, erm, strange," he finished with a high pitched squeak. It sounded more like a question than anything else.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "I'm not gonna suddenly change or anything. What you're remembering, it was such a long time ago."

"I know," Aziraphale nodded stiffly again. He gave Crowley an odd once over. "It's just," he tilted his head and grimaced, "you were my teacher."

Crowley spluttered. "I was everyone's teacher! It was just my job. What of it?"

A guilty smirk quirked at the angel's lips. "I just didn't think our love story could be even more cliche, but here we are." He chuckled nervously.

Crowley couldn't help but chuckle right along with him. "Well, get over it. I want us to get back to normal." He pouted. "I don't want you thinking that anything has changed. Or..." he grew worried, "has it?"

"No!" Aziraphale squeezed his hands reassuringly. "No, of course not."

"Well, you haven't kissed me since, you know, your revelation," Crowley grumbled self-consciously.

The angel sighed. "I could say the same for you," he muttered back.

Testing his theory, Crowley leaned in only to have Aziraphale flinch away. "Fuck, Aziraphale!" He tried to stand, but Aziraphale pinned him back down.

"I'm sorry!" He pleaded. "It's not you, it's just..." he tried to find the right words. "Your memories of us are in the past, where they should be. Mine are-are fresh, and vivid, and like they happened, well, yesterday!" He began to turn red and tug at his collar of his new, updated wardrobe. "Mixed in with everything that has recently happened between us, erm, the intimate things-"

"Sex," Crowley barked.

"Yes-yes." A deeper shade of red crept up his neck and into his ears. "Knowing what I know now, and not knowing what I didn't know then..."

Crowley shook his head to dispel the confusion. It didn't work.

"I slept with my teacher!" He said quickly with a whine. "My teacher who I had a tremendous infatuation with, though I didn't understand it at the time. I would have never, never thought that... that..."

"That what?!"

"That you'd reciprocate! That you could ever see me as anything more than just a student, or lowly Angel, beneath you really-"

Crowley planted a hard kiss on Azirphale's lips to shut him up. The angel was stiff but began to relax the more Crowley leaned in, turning his abrupt kiss into something much more tender. Aziraphale accepted his tongues invitation, and his hands found themselves in Crowley's hair.

Crowley dragged his lips to Aziraphale's neck. "That's exactly how I felt about you. How could someone as lovely as you want anything to do with a demon? Hm?"

"Oh," Aziraphale sighed with his eyes closed when they finally parted.

"Did that help bring you back to the present?" The demon murmured into his cheek.

"Yes," he replied, eyes fluttering open.

They looked into each other's eyes lovingly. Crowley decided to continue trying his luck, placing his good hand on Azirphale's knee and slowly dragging it up his inner thigh.

"Should I call you Jophiel?"

"Satan's bollocks," he breathed and sent a frustrated glance to his ceiling.

"I'm going to safely assume that means no... right?"

Crowley gazed back at Aziraphale, uncertainty all over his angel's face. "I know things need to readjust, and I'll give you all the time that you need. You know that. I've-I've always been... willing to... wait." He couldn't understand the tightness growing in his chest, or why tears threatened to spill.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale cupped his demon's face at seeing his abrupt hurt.

Rejection. Crowley suddenly realised he was not willing to wait. Not anymore. He couldn't. He would if he had to, obviously, but he couldn't take more rejection, not patiently anyway, not after what had almost happened to him. It made him feel desperate and weak. He couldn't stop his words from spilling out.

"Aziraphale, I can't-I can't keep asking you to-to-"

"Sh-sh-sh!" Aziraphale pulled him into his arms. "I'm sorry. I've been so fixated on what happened to me that I haven't thought about how you must feel. I'm so sorry."

Crowley felt a rush, and when he peeled himself off his lover, he found that Aziraphale had placed them both on his bed. "You didn't have to - we don't have to-"

"Yes, I did. Yes, I do." He pushed Crowley onto his back.

Aziraphale had been thinking about the past, but as soon as he remembered the horror of what nearly happened to the love of his life, his memories realigned themselves. His priorities now in order, Aziraphale recalled one of his thoughts when he'd been sure he was going to die.

"You've waited so long for me. You've indulged me. You've rescued me. You've taken care of me. Giving me so much of yourself, that I think I've drained you completely."

"N-n-no-" Crowley tried to protest.

"Will you be my husband?" Aziraphale let out like asking him to pass the butter.

Crowley's mouth went slack before a string of odd noises erupted from him. "I-I, eh, ngh, kay."

"What?" He chuckled. "Was that a yes?"

Crowley's cheeks were now a beautiful scarlet, and his skin gave off a wave of heat. He nodded and licked his lips. "Yeah."

"Oh, good," Aziraphale smiled. "I think I'm thoroughly in the present now," he purred as his eyes trailed over Crowley's body that was currently trapped under him. He shifted his weight and placed himself between Crowley's legs. "Seems like you are too," he murmured.

Crowley gulped audibly. Even after everything they'd done, everything they'd been through, somehow he was nervous. He reached up and began to unbutton Aziraphale's shirt. He gasped when the angel gave a slow thrust.

Aziraphale moved his hands away. "Your hand is still healing. Here, let's just..." with a snap, they were naked, and they groaned into each other's lips at the sudden contact.

"Will you let me take care of you, Crowley? You took care of me so well. You gave me everything. Too much."

"Never," he panted, "too much...ah," he interrupted himself with a moan as Aziraphale sucked on his neck.

The angel resurfaced, trailing kisses over the demon's jaw until he claimed his mouth once more. It did not escape him that Crowley was doing nothing to gain the upper hand as he'd done prior.

"Yes," he whispered into Crowley's ear, sending his hand down between them. He coaxed another moan out of the pliant serpent before speaking again. "I've taken so much from you. Let me give back. Let me show you how much I love you."

His angel's words were too much to handle. He wanted it. Crowley wanted all of those words, but they were making him squirm. "I like pleasing you," he offered weakly.

"I know," Aziraphale acknowledged quietly. "Would it help if I rephrased it? What if I say, it would please me to please you. Would please me to make love to you."

How could words like that make him whine in such a way? Crowley's body was absorbing all of the heat being offered by Aziraphale's skin. He spread his legs wider as his answer because his mouth would not cooperate.

Small miracles aside, Aziraphale found Crowley very receptive as he teased his entrance with his fingers.

"You're so good to me, Crowley."

He paused to hear those lovely sounds escape from his lover's lips. Who knew his words carried such weight? Aziraphale continued to murmur words of encouragement until Crowley was a whimpering mess beneath him. That cold, empty blackness had almost taken his beloved from him. He needed to fill him back up. As many times as he needed it.

"I have so much love to give you," he breathed, replacing his fingers with his cock, prodding and poking him into a frenzy.

Cowley wanted to beg. He knew it would not diminish him in his angel's eyes, yet he could not form the words. He tilted his hips up instead.

"I'm yours, Crowley. All of me. Yours." He pushed in slowly, bottoming out while they both cried out their pleasure.

Crowley held onto Aziraphale for dear life. He would have never asked this of him, to be cared for and thoroughly loved, but, oh, how he needed it. "Ask me," he panted, "ask me again."

It took a moment to gather his thoughts and figure out what Crowley was asking of him. "Oh," he gasped, "yes, as many times... as you like." He pulled back deliberately. "Will you be my husband, Crowley?" He thrust forward.

"Ah! Yes! Yes, please, yes," he cried out as Aziraphale began a steady rhythm, driving into all the right places.

"I love you, Crowley." He whipped his hips faster.

"Oh, God," he croaked. It had somehow slipped, but it sounded right for the first time in aeons. Maybe because he was thankful to Her for creating sex. Maybe more grateful still for creating this perfect creature who loved him so completely, who he loved with all of his being. "I love you, Aziraphale," he rasped, wrapping his arms around him tighter, feeling that intense crescendo before the inevitable crash of ecstasy.

Aziraphale waited for Crowley to tense beneath him before letting go. He thrust with need as he spilt inside of his lover - his husband, and stealing Crowley's cries with the crush of his lips and the conquering of his tongue, groaning into his mouth.

They stayed clinging to each other for some time, and Aziraphale mused briefly on how he'd got more sleep in a month than he had in a thousand years. As long as he slept in Crowley's bed, he didn't mind it much at all. Plus, they'd both had a trying time. He was drifting off when Crowley murmured.

"I've got rings." He almost sounded guilty.

"Hm?" Aziraphale lifted himself enough to hover over Crowley's blushing face. "Rings. For us?" He beamed when Crowley nodded. "Whenever did you get them?"

"When the world didn't end," he admitted. "I hoped, maybe in a few centuries or so, I wouldn't be moving too fast for you anymore. I dunno. I was sure as Heaven that you wouldn't be the one proposing." He scoffed. "Showed me."

Aziraphale sighed and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Let's see them, then," he smiled broadly.

Crowley motion with his eyes for Aziraphale to check his hand.

Aziraphale gasped and lifted his left hand to find a gold band in the shape of wings grazing each other from either direction. One was black. "You wily old serpent!"

Crowley showed him his matching one, all black with one gold wing.

"Oh, they're perfect!" Aziraphale kissed him fiercely.

When Anathema spotted the rings later, she had screeched and pointed at them both. After a good cry, she demanded there be a ceremony. Aziraphale, of course, was giddy with the idea. Crowley kept his excitement a secret. Aziraphale, of course, was able to glean that.

Amid all the planning for the wedding and celebrating their newest victory over Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale planned a surprise for Crowley. The demon was adamant about not wanting anything more from his angel save for the angel himself, but on the other hand, also had a surprise up his sleeve for his cherub.

So, eventually, Crowley gave in and let Aziraphale guide him blindfolded through the streets.

"All right, oh, mind the step, dear!" The angel cried at the same time that Crowley tripped.

"Enough," he grated, "that's the fourth time I've stubbed my toe," he complained. "Can I take this blasted thing off now?"

"Yes!" Aziraphale exclaimed excitedly.

Crowley removed his blindfold and found they were standing in front of the bookshop. His smile fell into a frown immediately. "The shop?" The memory of that day intruded in his mind, but Aziraphale was quick to dispel it.

"I know it was a horrible day. For you and me both, but" he seemed quite nervous as he fiddled with his wedding band, "we have so many more happy memories here together. Centuries worth of them. I decided to make it right. This shop..." he held Crowley's hands and smiled sadly, "it's not home without you in it."

The look on Aziraphale's face broke his heart. "But, angel, I can't go in."

"Oh, yes you can," he nodded emphatically. "You can, because, well," he cringed and shuddered, "I fixed it."

Crowley scoffed. "What'd ya do, unconsecrate it?" He chuckled at the ludicrous idea.

The angel grimaced. "Yes, in fact."

The demon baulked and spluttered. "You-no. You'd have to..." He looked from the door to his husband's face. "Only way to do that is to perform something sacrilege!"

Aziraphale groaned with and nodded. "Yes, let's not dwell on that; it was horrifying."

"Oh, no," Crowley wagged a finger, not having it, "I gotta know. What was it? Satanic ritual? Wanked on the doorstep?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Aziraphale looked around suspiciously before he looked back at Crowley with a look of pure grief. "Much worse than that."

Crowley's eyes went wide. "I'm listening."

"I... I..." he groaned again and lowered his voice, "I burned a book."

The demon gasped loudly. "No." His mouth was quickly breaking into a grin before he could stop it. The idea of Aziraphale burning a book, just so he'd be able to spend time there with him made him giddy with all kinds of warm, tingly feelings.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but the pain was still there. "Yes, yes, I did."

"The bible, was it?" Crowley asked with deep interest.

"Worse," he replied flatly. "Hamlet."

The grin disappeared entirely. "You... burned... Shakespear."

Lips pursed, Aziraphale nodded grimly.

The demon pulled his husband into his chest and almost cried. "For me..."

"Of course," he replied without an ounce of hesitation.

Crowley leaned back and shook his head with awe. "Hamlet?!"

"I've had enough tragedies to last me quite some time. I understand now, and I think I'm with you in favouring the funny ones from here on out." He meant it to sound like a joke, but it didn't work out that way.

"Anyway," Aziraphale continued, "it was the one that meant the most to me. I knew it was sure to do the trick." Tears welled up in his eyes. "I'd never really... suffered... until I thought I had... lost you."

"Oh, angel. Come'ere." He held him again for a long moment and decided to change the mood. "Let's get inside then. I've missed this old dust trap." He chuckled, bravely placed his mended hand on the handle, and smiled.

Later that evening, Crowley took his place at the sofa, a random book in hand, and patted at the seat next to him. "I think it's time we get back to our old routine, yeah?"

"I wholeheartedly agree," Aziraphale said brightly. "And now," he smiled as he removed the LED candles from the cabinet, "you won't have to pretend to fall asleep on my shoulder."

Crowley watched his smug angel turn the candles on and place them. Once Aziraphale was settled next to him, he handed him the book.

Crowley grinned and gave his husband a peck on the cheek. "Before you start, I think the ambience is a bit off, wouldn't you say?"

"Hm?"

With a wave of Crowley's hand, the LED's were replaced with Aziraphale's favourite original candles, unlit.

His angel was delighted. "Oh, thank you, love!" He kissed him back to show his gratitude, then quirked a brow. "You forgot to light them, dear."

"I have a friend who can help with that," he grinned mischievously. He sent his arm to the sky, and Old Friend materialised in his grasp.

It lit the entire room in an instant, sending little flames in all directions that floated serenely like little stars until they reached every wick in the space. Crowley preened and gave Aziraphale a wink before putting the sword away again.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but could not stop an impressed smile from forming. "Ever the showoff," he muttered.

"I'd call it romance, but I won't argue." Crowley waited eagerly for Aziraphale to open the book. He was rewarded with his angels confused look.

"This wasn't here before." He turned the curious paper over. "It's a deed."

"To a cottage. Our cottage." Crowley cleared his throat and blushed.

Aziraphale pierced him with a look of astonishment and joy. "Ours?"

"Engagement or wedding present, whatever," Crowley grumbled and waved a hand dismissively. He was quickly attacked by his giddy husband peppering him with kisses.

"Oh, Crowley, you are a romantic! We'll go first thing tomorrow to see it!"

"Whatever you want, angel."

They chuckled cheerfully and fit themselves closer together, and as the angel read aloud, the demon placed his head on his shoulder. It was a routine that they would continue for the rest of their days together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it, ya'll! A complete fic!
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking around! Please share this fic with your mutuals or fic rec blobgs if you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Help me self-publish by buying me a coffee: [Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/mordellestories)
> 
> Want early access to all my work including this one? Go to my [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/mordellestories/) and comment on any post with "add me!"
> 
> [Here's my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mordellestories)!
> 
> Read my other fanfic here: 
> 
> [Good Omens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordelle/works?fandom_id=27251507)
> 
> [Beetlejuice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordelle/works?fandom_id=2763282)
> 
> [Beauty and the Beast ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18483799/chapters/43797364)


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